(and How God Gently Untangles Them)
Sometimes the subtle lies we believe don’t shout. They slip quietly into our self-talk and shape how we see ourselves.
Some lies creep quietly in. They don’t derail our lives or determine whether we succeed or find love. They sit below the surface and emerge now and then as we move through our days.
I was having one of those days.
I tripped over the cat food bowl and scattered dry cat food all over the kitchen floor. After I righted the bowl and swept up the kibble, I continued on to what I was trying to do in the first place: the dishes. I almost broke a plate, but caught it just in time and heard myself say:
At least you aren’t as dumb as you look.
STEP ONE: Notice
Huh.
That was the second time I had heard myself say that in a week. It felt like a new message. I don’t remember saying that before. And working on these blogs had reminded me not to just shrug my shoulders and move on.
I sensed it wasn’t a deeply entrenched lie because it didn’t sting. Still, it was worth paying attention to.
STEP TWO: Ponder
At least I’m not as dumb as I look.
I know I’m not dumb. I’m a smart girl. So, this wasn’t about intelligence.
It was about looks.
These things often start in childhood.
I thought about possible connections.
I felt back through memories.
Nothing came to the surface.
STEP THREE: Take It to God
At least I’m not as dumb as I look.
Since I had no idea where this came from, I found a quiet time and space. I grabbed my journal and a pen.
Journal entry:
You aren’t as dumb as you look — where did that come from, Lord?
Am I as dumb as I look? No, I’m smart. I know that.
Do I look dumb? No.
Did I when I was a girl?I think about my moon-face days, but I didn’t look dumb.
(I was an overweight preteen.)How do dumb people look anyway?
Papa God, would you speak the words that would heal my heart?
Untie this knot?
Since I know these kinds of lies often take root in childhood, I began journaling to my younger self. I didn’t know exactly what to say, but I was in a prayerful, listening posture.
Little girl, I love you. It’s okay to come out.
You are smart.
Smart girls are allowed.
Clever girls get to come out and play.
Whatever you look like, it doesn’t matter — glasses, pigtails, red hair…
And as soon as I wrote red hair, it hit me.
Someone made fun of my red hair.
My shiny crown of red hair.
Ha. Redheads are smart.
STEP FOUR: Prayer
Give the lie to God in prayer.
Papa God, wow. Somehow I believed that my red hair made me look dumb. You have shown me that this is not true, nor ever was. Thank you for showing me this. I no longer believe this lie, and You have broken its power over me.
I gratefully walk free.
I am happy to be a redhead and acknowledge that You made me just the way You wanted to. Brains, red hair, and all.
I love you, Papa.
Wrap-Up
This subtle lie didn’t do a lot of damage in my life, and it didn’t require deep or extended healing. But it was insidious, and it wasn’t healthy.
It wasn’t something that required deep excavation. It simply needed to be brought into the light of truth.
Fix your thoughts on what is true, and honorable, and right, and pure, and lovely, and admirable. Think about things that are excellent and worthy of praise.
Philippians 4:8
Of all my features, my hair color happens to be the one I love the most.
It just took connection.
Kids made fun of the unusual color of my hair. (True redheads are rare.) I believed they thought I looked “dumb,” whether they actually said it or not. I took that message to heart, agreed with it, and tucked it away.
Then, on a day when things weren’t going well, I noticed myself saying it.
I took it to God. He helped me untangle it. I haven’t heard myself say it again—and honestly, knowing how these things work, I don’t expect to.
Realize this is a light example I’m bringing you — to show you the process without opening trauma. We will get there. Just not today.
Your words will not be the same as mine. For instance, you may notice I call God “Papa.” I asked Him what I could call Him because I carry father wounds, and that was the name He gave me. It fits for me, but may not for you — and that’s okay. Use whatever name feels safe and true for you. God seems far more interested in being known than in what we call Him.
Your process will not be the same. Sometimes God speaks words directly into my heart. Sometimes He gives impressions or memories. He uses different ways for different situations. He does not like being put in a box or reduced to a formula.
What I do know is this:
He wants to help untangle you and set you free
It seems to be a specialty of His.
