My mother had a set of rules for me, because unlike the stick thin oldest sister (she's beautiful!), I was practically born with curves that made said sister refer to me (lovingly, I hope) as the "chubby" sister.
In sixth or seventh grade, I starved myself. I wouldn't eat lunch at school for the longest time, until my Dad got a call from the school nurse who was worried about me. That led to a lecture about how I'm "not fat." Dad said his piece, and I went on thinking I was fat.
My mother told me...
*don't wear white, it makes you look fat
*don't wear red, it makes you look fat
*don't put your hair back without bangs, it makes your face look chubby.
Reading the Bible has slowly broken through those barriers put up by my mother, and sister, and the world in general. I am His child. He decides what's best for me. As long as my clothes are glorifying Him, as long as they are an outward profession of my inside faith...He does not care what color I wear.
Today, I broke every single one of the "rules."
I wore white. I wore red.
And you know what?
At church, I had a dozen people tell me how pretty I look.
I live for Him.
I dress to go to His house, for Him.
He makes the rules.
Not my mother.
Not my sister.