He Calls Me

I find it rather intriguing that the name "Rachel" is associated with the word "beautiful." It originates in the Hebrew language, and there, Rachel (רָחֵל) is translated as "little sheep" or as someone with purity. However, because of Jacob's wife, the name typically carries a connotation of beauty (Genesis 29:17).

Now, some love to joke and call me a "beautiful little sheep" or something along those lines. Yet, for as long as I can remember, this is what I have been told: my name means "beautiful." More than that, people have characterized me by that word my entire life. "You have such beautiful eyes." "Your hair is beautiful." "You should smile more. It's beautiful." "Rachel, you're so beautiful!" Do you want to know the most amusing part about being identified as "beautiful?"

I don't see it.

My family and many other loved ones often call me something that I strain to see in the mirror. I can turn this way or that, wipe off the makeup or reapply it, put my contacts in or take them out, and nothing changes. I see a distorted figure. I see fat or bone. I see countless blemishes and imperfections. I see scars. I don't see beautiful.

I know that what I perceive is wrong. Every wise person I have met views me in the exact opposite way that I do, and I know I have not yet read all of the passages in Scripture that tell me how God looks at me as His precious, beautiful, treasure. But my eyes deceive me still, and I turn away from my own reflection feeling nothing less than defeated and disgusted.

For the past five years, I have been attempting to correct my vision. I have gotten cuter clothes, tried new lipsticks and eye shadows, began eating more fruits and veggies, sought love in human beings rather than my Father, and prayed my heart out even when I knew deep in my soul that I was not giving it all up to Him. I now wear a bracelet every day that has BEAUTIFUL written across the band, so that maybe I'll be able to remember who I am, my own name.

"Therefore humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, that He may exalt you at the proper time, casting all your anxiety on Him, because He cares for you." ~ 1 Peter 5:6-7

Allow me to tell you the story of what happened the other night. I'm about to get real vulnerable over here. As if she's ever not, you may say, but this is the story of one of the few times when I encountered God in full-force, so bear with me.

Following a weekend of what seemed to be endless anxiety (which is but one of the horrible side effects associated with my distorted perceptions) and a few tears, I finally felt my heart release this awful state of mind to God through one of those prayers that one is usually ashamed of later on. I returned to school, and the following day, I decided to genuinely give solitude a chance with nothing surrounding me save God's presence. Solitude is something that has been pressing down on my heart lately, especially since one of my classes has been very intentional in pointing out the importance of it. So, I set aside an easy ten minutes for us. Keep in mind, this was basically my first-ever attempt. For a few minutes I struggled significantly, fighting to quiet my thoughts and tune into God's voice. I told Him I loved Him and trusted Him, and I asked but one favor in that moment: for Him to say my name.

I strained to hear any inkling of God speaking to me. I thought, for a minute or two, that I had heard something being softly whispered over and over. It was almost like I felt it. I tried to listen for my name in it, and it sounded almost as if "Rachel" were there, but I was not convinced. All too soon, my alarm went off, and I slowly got up to continue through the day. I told myself that I had only been trying to pick up what I wanted. If I was being honest, I had probably not heard God speak.

Later that evening, I finished writing a poem whose opening lines had been ringing in my head for days if not weeks already. I could not complete it all at once. Inspiration only came in spurts, and it frustrated me to no end. Yet, I knew I had to be patient. I know that God gives me lines to write in the perfect time. I can see the difference between when He inspires me and when I force my own creativity. It is nowhere near as fluent or meaningful if I try it alone, so I wait. Finally, I completed the newest piece He'd given me and titled it He Calls Me. At the time, I thought of nothing other than how relieved I was that it was all officially on paper.

I prayed that evening. I went through my mental list of people as is typical. Out of nowhere, in the middle of one of my prayers, I understood. I realized that I absolutely did hear something in my ten minutes of solitude, my poem was not just a random set of rhymes about God, and He was, without a doubt, interrupting my silly routine to reveal that He had called my name, but "Rachel" was not what He'd said.

I had heard, "Beautiful."

I have been told all along that that is who I am. I have been bombarded with it in school, at home, at ball games, in church, reading Scripture, everywhere. Yet, never did I truly believe it until that very moment when I realized that God had been calling me by name the entire day, trying to get my attention. If you're still reading this, then know that I believe it now. I believe I am beautiful.

Listen, I am not saying that I see it all the time now. My closest friends and family members can attest to that. However, I have never felt as free as I do now. I cannot remember having loved myself for who I truly am as much I do now. For the rest of my life, each day will be a struggle for me to see that I am beautiful, but now I know the truth with all of my being, and if I ever have doubts, I can return to the fact that God heard my prayer of desperation and spoke to my heart because of it. I have struggled and failed for far too long, but I can now confidently say that I am recovering, because I have been learning to faithfully place my trust in God. My vision is clearing, and I see life at the end of the tunnel.

(Below is the poem I completed that night following solitude with God)

He Calls Me

By: Rachel Jones

My eyes can't see

What others do

They're clouded over

With words that aren't true

I face the mirror

Take in the image it bears

Looking away, I feel

Beaten, torn, ensnared

I cry and fight