beauty

 
 

Behind the Name

With the one year anniversary of this blog only yesterday, I thought it would be appropriate to give some background about why I started this blog and what the name “Not So Supergirl” has come to mean.

On WordPress, unless you pay money, it seems almost every blog URL you could think of is already taken.  I didn’t want to use my name and I did want it to make it sound exciting- something that sparked people to want to read. I was becoming desperate after a few days of trying (unsuccessfully) to think of a blog title that wasn’t already taken. My mind began to wander and I thought of blogs that already existed. Not So Wonder Woman certainly sounded nice- but obviously that wasn’t the right choice for a blog by a teen girl. And thinking in that same mindset, I came up with Not So Supergirl. After milling it over in my head for a day, it began to sound better and better. But what did it really mean to me? Looking back, when I first started, it didn’t mean much at all. It just sounded like a good blog title. God was working in my heart and in my mind, and because it was his blog, his plan for the name meant much more than how it looked on a computer screen. After about 3 months into blogging, I figured that I should explain the title. But what was there to explain? And that’s when it hit me. There was much to explain.

Ever since the 8th grade when we made our own personal websites for class to share our writing, I knew that blogging was the perfect ministry opportunity. We were required on our website to tell something about us, and what better way to talk about me than to talk about Jesus. My friends said the testimony I wrote for my website was deep. I thought it was shallow. It wasn’t much more than stating the Great Commission and telling people that they needed Jesus in their lives. After 8th grade was over, I still visited my website the summer before my teacher had to take them down so another class could make their websites. Even though no one was ever on those pages again, I started my own miniature blog at the bottom on the page after all my writings. When the websites were taken down, there was great remorse on my part. I loved being able to share my thoughts with the world and, in a greater capacity, Jesus with the world.

There was a desire in the back of my mind to have a website again. At first I planned to have a blog that I posted my writings on. Things like my poetry, book reviews, and short stories. And to share it with my mom so she could write too. She never found a great host for that kind of website and didn’t have the time to set the whole thing up. I decided to look on my own. I then found the “themes” page for WordPress. It took away a lot of the effort in designing the website, it was free, and had some sort of protection to keep people from stealing the things you write. I brought the proposition to my mom who told me she’d think about it, but really, she had to, because I asked her almost everyday what her decision was. It was during this time that my whole ambition for the website had changed and I knew that this blog, if given the permission to began it, would become my world-wide platform for my Savior.  I was going to write about my faith in him and use it to encourage and challenge others.

“Not So Supergirl” is a subtle rebellion against the way of the world and a surrender of everything to Jesus. Super Girl is the ideal girl: blond, skinny, powerful, she’s everything a girl would want to be right? You save the world and have tons of admirers. And that’s where my rebellion comes in. I’m not Supergirl, I never will be. I never want to be. She represents false ideas of beauty, and enforces the standards that the world tries to place. Standards that I’m determined not to live by or follow. Why? Because they aren’t realistic and they are not the measure of beauty or power. Beauty fades, as stated in Proverbs 31: 30

“Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting;
but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

And “beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes; rather it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.” 1 Peter 3:3-4.

“And I want women to get in there with the men in humility before God, not primping before a mirror or chasing the latest fashions but doing something beautiful for God and becoming beautiful doing it.”1 Timothy 2:9 (MSG).

That is the measure of true beauty. Godly beauty. The kind that never fades and never dies, the kind that is remembered and holds more power than unnatural abilities. Which leads me to the point that Not So Supergirl is a surrender. I don’t have it all together. I don’t have supernatural abilities. I’m just ordinary. And because I am, that means God has the freedom to show himself through me. It happens when I give up myself and everything I think I can do, and place it in his hands so that he has the ability to make the Not So Supergirl something special after all. Something with his purpose and someone who is used to bring glory and honor to him. He’s the superhero. I’m that one girl who needs saving. And frankly, when you’re not a superhero, there aren’t as many people that you have to keep from discovering who you really are.

Categories: beauty, christianity, God, Holy Spirit, Jesus, Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , | Leave a comment
 
 

Beauty in Exile

Here is a little short story I wrote for Easter Sunday. Enjoy!

As far as I was concerned, I was worth nothing. I had rags for a dress, soiled hands and a dirty face. I was an outcast of society; I deserved nothing but to be spit upon by a crowd of mockers. I was an orphan, without family or home. I had no name. I was exiled from the Kingdom, as ransom for a fault of my ancestors, many years before. They soiled the honor of our King. I suffered under the weight of their fault.

A prince sat in his castle window, staring out at the barren land where the outskirts of his father’s kingdom lay. It was dry, where the exiles lived. The exiles who soiled the honor of his father, exiles with rags for clothes and soiled hands and dirty faces; a people who knew no love, no home. His heart ached for them.

I worked hard with little pay and the only satisfaction I got was the hope of death, which was never a comfort. My freedom held me captive, all day long. I knew I was free to roam, but inside, I yearned for something more fulfilling. I needed to know my life had a purpose. I needed to feel loved. I shoved my thoughts out of the way, and toiled on. My search for water was unending.

The prince sat at the King’s table, feasting on the finest food. The king stood. “My son,” he said, “have you not longed to see what I have despised?” “Therefore, I send you out unto the exiles to live among them, to see what they face.” “Bring them back to me, and I shall make them my children, they shall be loved.” The prince, nodded solemnly, knowing this would be his last feast at his father’s table for a long time. His father continued, speaking softly “but you know they cannot be accepted without a price”. The prince stood, wiped away a tear and said, “It will be done.”

I watched the cloud of dust come closer, the only thing it could mean was a new arrival. The person who came stumbling down the road was not eye-catching, but there was something about him. When he looked me in the eye, I saw no scorn, no mockery, nothing I had been used to receiving from travelers. When he spoke, there seemed to be great authority, and his next words shocked me. “I am an exile.” “I came from my father’s kingdom to live here for a year and bring you back to him after your ransom has been paid.” I laughed at such ignorance, but lead him around and showed him the life I lived in this dust bowl, a life without water, a life that seemed to mean nothing. Through the months, his phrase echoed through the walls of my mind. “…To bring you back to him after your ransom has been paid.”

The prince lived among the exiles, and experienced the heartache of the people. He felt their sorrow, a stabbing pain in his heart. He healed the sick, and they listened to stories of life in the castle, although they never believed them. But the days were drawing close when their ransom had to be paid. They would know the joy of love and family; he would feel the weight of their burdensome faults. A pack of thieves galloped down the road; he bowed his head and prayed before leaping into action.

We never had thieves. There was nothing to steal, and yet there they were before us, holding us hostage. The prince came out of the cloud of dust, his face set in a firm line, holding out a ring with the king’s coat of arms. “I know what you’re after”, he said, “Let them go.” The thieves dropped us to the ground and sprinted to the prince. I could only watch as a cloud of dust arose and the prince’s cries were heard above the noise. I turned my head; I couldn’t bear to watch it unfold. The others around me laughed and jeered, ugly people enjoying the spectacle of pain they never saw the prince go through before now.

The thieves, after finishing their work, left off into the sunset, while the prince lay motionless on the ground. The others around me wandered off. I ran to him. I watched, in awe as the river of blood flowing from his veins took form, creating a beautiful red dress. The prince stirred, and said in a hoarse voice, “take it, put it on, and walk back into my father’s kingdom, there you will be accepted, and there you will find rest and love.” I took his hand, and he died. The ground shook and the sky turned black. I put on the red dress and started my three-day journey back to the kingdom, carrying the dreadful news to the King- that his son was dead.

The third day, my heart felt lighter, as if the weight I had been under for so long was now gone. I looked at my red dress; it was a brilliant white as I climbed up the steps to the King’s palace. They received me inside, although I had made no appointment. I walked the narrow hallways to the throne room, my heart pounding furiously. I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror; no longer was I ugly, I wasn’t dressed in filthy rags, now I was stunning, the white dress reflecting off the walls.

A voice from inside the throne room called me in, and I walked into the brilliant light. There, my King stood tall and welcomed me to his table, and said I was his child. I opened my mouth to tell of how undeserving I was, when I saw my prince. He stood and spoke for me. He told of the wonderful things I had done for him while in exile. His father nodded. I was lead to the table, and knew that I was loved. I was lead to His table; and I knew I was home.

Categories: beauty, Change, christianity, encouragement, God, God, hearing, Holy Spirit, identity, Jesus, life, listening, looks, love, Moving, people, perfection, prayer, purpose, reality, relationships, selfishness, words | Leave a comment
 
 

Work in Progress

I’ve had people ask me a lot of challenging questions this week. I’ve gone through many faith-challenging things these last few weeks. I found that through my walk with Christ, I’m able to give things to God more easily. When something comes up that I feel like I don’t know how to handle, I’ve learned to give it to God. It’s still a work in progress. That phrase, “a work in progress”, describes me well. My tennis skills: a work in progress. My gym class tolerance: a work in progress. My faith: a work in progress. Mackenzie: a work in progress. There are many things I need to work on, and many things God needs to work out of me.

I find that people often say “be strong” when you’re faced with hard circumstances, but I’ve found God tells me just the opposite. He tells me that through my weaknesses, he is made strong. Basically, he says “be weak.” When you become weak, you become flexible to God’s schedule as opposed to your own. You’re giving him control, letting him turn something into a masterpiece, instead of trying to make it on your own, without even knowing how. You’re trying to make something perfect out of nothing. Have you ever done pottery before? Imagine an instructor sitting a ball of clay before you and saying, make a flawless teapot. I don’t want to see any cracks, and make sure all the air bubbles our out and make sure you use the spiral method. Oh, and don’t forget to wedge and knead the clay before you hollow it out, also score and slip the pot before adding the handle. Unless you really know how to make pottery, you might be a little lost.

I’ll explain. If there are cracks in the clay you are molding with, it will be hard to shape and falls apart easily. If there are air bubbles in the clay when you fire it in the kiln, your masterpiece will explode. The spiral method of making pottery is difficult and it usually comes out lopsided if the clay “snake” is not rolled out evenly. You wedge and knead clay to get all the air bubbles out so it doesn’t explode in the kiln. You must also hollow out the inside of your pot because you couldn’t use it if you didn’t and also because there is a great chance there are air bubbles in that clay and it will explode in the kiln if you do not knead them out. You score and slip pieces of clay that you want to attach together, because they would not stick otherwise. Slip is a mixture of clay and water that acts as a glue for pieces of pottery. Scoring refers to the process of roughing up the surface area of the two objects that you want to attach, where you want to attach them; scoring is like making scratch marks in the clay with a utensil such as a plastic fork before slipping it and attaching it. If you do something wrong, your masterpiece will either fall apart or explode when you try to complete it.

I wonder how many of us, would have known exactly what to do, without being told any of that information. How many of us could have made perfect, flawless teapots? And yet we treat our lives like a piece of pottery that we know exactly how to mold, which is the biggest lie. Does a pot know how to mold itself? So for God to accomplish his purpose in us, we must first become weak and willing. We are all works in progress. None of us are perfect. I’m not perfect. I never will be. But I look at people who don’t seem to have any problems in their life and wish I were them. Comparing myself to a broken, useless person who God has fixed, isn’t perfection. It’s a broken useless person who God has fixed and given a purpose to. I’ve misunderstood and undoubtedly misplaced perfection. We have God’s full attention. He is intent on making us into something wonderful. We never take the time to notice that our creator is perfect. We never take the time to compare our own lives to his. We are too caught up in comparing ourselves to “perfect” people. Like I said, I’m a work in progress, and only when I become weak, can God turn me into something breath-taking.

1 Corinthians 4:6-7 (MSG)

For who do you know that really knows you, knows your heart? And even if they did, is there anything they would discover in you that you could take credit for? Isn’t everything you have and everything you are sheer gifts from God? So what’s the point of all this comparing and competing? You already have all you need. You already have more access to God than you can handle.

Categories: beauty, Bible, clay, clay pot, comparision, Corinthians, creations, Faith, God, God, Holy Spirit, Jesus, learning, life, listening, people, perfection, potter, pottery, purpose, relationships, Self-esteem, Thoughts, words | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment
 
 

My Future Husband

While Valentine’s Day and New Years are very much different, I have resolutions to be the best fiancee. I read at least five verses in Proverbs about not being a nagging spouse. About how living with a nagging spouse is worse than listening to a leaky faucet and how it would be better to live in a cabin alone than to live with a nagging spouse in a mansion. Ouch. While I’m not married yet, I have the best future husband ever! This is the long post where I tell you all about him. But really, it’s too short to began to describe how awesome he is.

He asked me to marry him when I was six years old. And, of course, I said yes. We then began growing our relationship even more and began planning our wedding. He told me about a place he knew where we would have our wedding. It sounded so beautiful, I couldn’t help but agree. I almost didn’t believe him, except for the fact that he never lies to me.

I met his dad, and absolutely loved him. He remains just like a father to me and I usually tell him all about my problems. Did you know he is both a counselor and a doctor? His dad is a pretty good teacher as well, so my future husband has the gift in his genes. His dad lives in the place where we will have our wedding. I told him, “It must be so wonderful because you live there.” He most definitely agreed with me.

My future husband writes me letters all the time. Sometimes I don’t feel like I have the time to read them, but his dad told me that you make time for what is most important in your life. It made me feel guilty about the things I hadn’t read yet. My future husband never forgets to tell me how much he loves me and how he thinks I am the most beautiful girl in all the universe. He writes me songs and sings them to me and makes sure that I always feel loved. He shows me where I am wrong and tells me gently how to fix it. Sometimes, I let him be the handy man and fix it for me. There are some things that are beyond what I can do to repair.

He tells me not to be a nagging wife and trust him always because he knows best. That’s hard. My future husband doesn’t want me to drive the car, he wants to drive it for me so he knows that I am safe under his watch. He hugs me when things go wrong so I know I am safe in his arms. He tells me to dream big, because his dad can do anything, but not to dream so big that I lose sight of what really matters. Because it’s more important to have a bunch of people move to where his dad lives and see the wedding, than it is to make a big show of how many decorations we will have.

My future husband loves me so much that he moved away from his dad to come and ask me to marry him. At first his dad wouldn’t allow it, but my future husband gave me a red dress to wear while I’m around his dad, and now his dad has forgotten all the bad things that I did to soil his honor. But that red dress cost a fortune. My future husband had to pay a lot to give that dress away. It cost his life. He loved me enough to do something like that. I didn’t think I was worth it. But he told me that I was chosen, and no one can take me away from him, because I belonged to him and him alone.

My future husband moved back to where his dad lived . But he never forgot me and still writes me letters. Sometimes, I forget about him and the price he paid to have me. I find exciting things that live around me and I forget about my future husband. They become more important to me than my future husband. And my future husband gets mad, well… not mad, jealous. They never paid as much for me as he did, and he tells me that. We go to marriage counseling with his dad and I tell my future husband how sorry I am. I broke the contract we had, I shrugged off that red dress like it was nothing. I never expected to be forgiven. But I was.

My future husband loves me in spite of what I’ve done. He tells me that he still loves me and always will. He says I’m beautiful. My future husband never gave me a diamond ring. My eternal valentine never gave me a box of chocolates, a necklace, or a rose for Valentine’s Day. He gave me him, and that’s all I will ever need.

My future husband and I are getting married when I move up to heaven and all the wedding guests have arrived. They’ll ring the bells and the service will start. The best food will be served and we’ll all be praising him and his dad. My future husband’ s name is Jesus and we hope you’ll come to our wedding. My future husband… he’s awesome.

Categories: beauty, Bible, christianity, Church, encouragement, Faith, God, God, Holy Spirit, Jesus, looks, love, Moving, people, prayer, purpose, reality, relationships, teens, Thoughts, Trust, Valentine's Day, words | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments
 
 

The Potter

Imagine that you sat at the potter’s wheel and made a clay pot. Okay, so it’s a little lopsided, but it’s your creation, its perfect and it reminds you of yourself. Now imagine that this specially created clay pot could talk. It couldn’t say much at first, it’s a pot, com’on. But through the years as you made other clay pots, it could talk. And this beautiful pot, this perfect clay pot, started comparing herself to all the other pots in the house. She said, “I want that pink pot shape, and I like that color blue better than my own. My rim is too big and I lean too far to the left. I don’t have that kind of voice and my height makes me feel self-conscious. I feel overlooked, like you care about all the other pots more than me. You have so many, why spend time admiring me? What makes me so special? Why was I even created? Is there a purpose for me? What am I going to be used for? Do you even know? Do you even care?”
If your pot said this, your perfect clay pot that you specially designed to remind you of yourself, that you mixed the perfect shade of blue for it, made sure it had the perfect shape; its rim was the perfect size. It leans just far enough to the left to make it look beautiful; it had the best voice you could offer. Its height was the perfect height for the purpose it was designed for and you spend lots of time admiring it. So how does God feel? When you spend time staring in front of the mirror looking and pointing out everything wrong with you. That your nose is too big. That you look too fat. That your ears are too big or your hair is too curly. His perfect creation, saying that he made the wrong choice; you were given what you have been given by mistake. How does he feel? Imagine that you sat at the potter’s wheel and made a clay pot.

Categories: beauty, clay pot, comparision, creations, Faith, God, looks, perfection, potter, pottery, purpose, Self-esteem, Uncategorized | Tags: | 2 Comments

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