This post is from my good friend Kimmie Walk. You can read more by her at her blog Queen of Malfunction.
Once upon a time, I lived in an affluent beach community with my best friend and her family. I was a Plain-Bellied Sneetch in a Star-Bellied Sneetch world. So, I did what any nineteen year old would do, I converted to a Star-Bellied Sneetch.
Life was a blur once I got my Star. I spent my nights (and even some of my days) doing drugs and my days laying out at the beach. For the first time in my life, I was one of the glamourous girls I’d always wanted to be. But what was even more than that, I finally fit in somewhere. I was finally one of the beautiful people.
I lost myself in that world. I became a shell of the person I once was. I was unkind and disrespectful. I was vain and conceited. I had no problem putting others down to raise myself up. I was deceitful, and I knew how to use my looks and my body to get what I wanted. Oh, I was good at getting my way. On the outside, I was flawless. With blonde hair that glistened in the sunlight and a slim body that wore expensive clothing. That star on my belly got bigger and bigger.
And then I got a reality check when my friend was murdered. My grief consumed me, yet, there was much more to it. My friend’s murder case was all over the news, and I was forced to take a step back and re-examine my life and the people I surrounded myself with. Suddenly, those Plain-Bellied Sneetches didn’t seem so bad. And so, I decided to get my Star removed.
Throughout the entire two years that I wore my Star proudly, I had been at church and I had attended a life group with those Plain-Bellied Sneetches. Those Sneetches had loved me regardless of my Star. Even when I was the most unloveable. Especially when I was the most unloveable. And so, when I told those women I was ready for change, they helped erase that star, little by little.
I once lost myself in a fantasy world, filled with promises of glamour and fulfillment. I often get nostalgic for those days, remembering the fun that I had; and then, I remember Emery. I remember the pain of losing him. The pain of realizing I’d lost myself, and that brief moment of nostalgia is erased.
Now I know who I am. I know that my identity is not found in the clothes I wear, the lifestyle I live, or the friends that I have. My identity is found in Christ alone. He’s chosen me. He’s brought me out of darkness and into his marvelous Light. It seems that being a Plain-Bellied Sneetch isn’t so bad after all.