“Do you like it?” I pointed at my homemade artwork–a anthropologie-inspired sweater mosaic perched on the mantle–and looked at my friend for her response. She nodded and shrugged her shoulders.
“Do you like it?” She responded. I stared at her.
Did I like it? That question caught me off guard. Later that day I thought back to 7th grade and remembered wearing a rather unusual skirt to school one day. My grandma had made it, and I couldn’t decide whether it was stunning or horrid. It would take some work to pull it off, but I thought it was pretty cool. I went for it.
Of course it took all of two minutes for me to see the verdict on the faces of the girls at school. A glance down, eyebrows up, look at me, smirk. It was dumb. The skirt had failed. I went home at lunch and changed my clothes.
Later that day a friend, a true friend, had chided me: “Why’d you change? Don’t let what other people think make you change your clothes. If you like the skirt, wear it.”
Did I like the skirt?
Do I like the my sweater mosaic?
How often do I have to ask a hundred opinions before I decide what I think?
Are my opinions simply the sum total of others’?
While I’ve grown out my 7th grade skirt, I haven’t quite grown out of my over-dependence on other’s opinions. And I have a feeling I’m not alone. I recently received a text from a friend: “Can I come over? Formal event–need opinion on dress”. I’m happy to give my input, but really she’s the only one who needs to like what she wears. Right?
Perhaps our over-dependence on other’s opinions is harmless enough when it comes to skirts and art, but my hunch is that it creeps down past the superficial and begins to take root in our hearts.
Am I okay?
The same question that haunts us haunted our feminine ancestors thousands of years ago. In Genesis 30, sisters Rachel and Leah are desperately and miserably competing for their husband Jacob’s love and approval by seeing who can bear the most children. Leah takes the lead while Rachel is barren, so Rachel gets her maid to bear a few to even the score. Then Leah becomes barren and panics, so she gets her maid to bear more children with Jacob. And after that child is born Leah announces,
“Happy am I! For women have called me happy.” (30:13)
Hmm. Happy am I. Why?
For women have called me happy.
Are you convinced? Neither am I. I can almost picture the scene. Anxious and driven by insecurity and competition, Leah makes one final attempt to win the affection of the husband who clearly prefers her sister. Deep down she knows the truth. After resorting to the unthinkable (giving her maid to her husband!), she insists that she is happy because other women have called her happy.
Modern day translation?
I’m okay because other women say I’m okay.
Dear sisters, that is not the truth.
You are not merely the sum total of other people’s opinions.
Your skirt has value if you like wearing it.
Your artwork has value if you like looking at it.
You have value because you are wonderfully made in the image of God.
You are not happy if women call you happy. And you are not worthless if women call you worthless. We will be called both at some point, and our defining moment is what we choose to believe.
When we dismiss our opinions, we dismiss our worth. When we dismiss our worth, we dismiss the genius of the One who created us. The One who called you more than happy.
The one who called you His own.
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In what ways have you allowed the opinions of others to trample your own? In what ways have you allowed your worth to merely be the sum total of other’s opinions? Ask God today to show you His opinion of who you are.