Dear Not-Quite-Tween Daughter: A Conversation on Modesty

by Merry Gordon

Dear Not-Quite-Tween Daughter:

It’s early, I know. The fact that you’re a girl barely registers with you. You still smell of recess and little kid sweat and school cafeteria and it’s all I can do to get you to brush your hair once a day. Knots of whispering females are cropping up under the bleachers at snack time to trade secrets and lip gloss, but you’re still out there on the soccer field kicking the collective rear of every boy in your grade—you are not the kind of girl who’ll be sidelined by your gender, and for that I’m grateful.

But a time will come in the none-too-distant future when we will bond over PMS-fueled ice cream benders and watch YouTube videos on how to best conceal a surprise zit on class picture day. You’ll borrow my mascara in the mornings, steal your dad’s razor to shave your legs for the first time…and eventually you might try to sneak out of the house wearing an outfit that raises an eyebrow. Maybe you’ll wriggle into your seat at church and tug on a too-short dress or shake your hair over a strappy shirt. It’s possible you’ll test boundaries; most kids do.

And if this happens, your father and I will both take a deep breath.

He will sit down, clean his gun collection and make a mental note of any boy over the age of twelve who has so much as glanced at you in the past six months.

I will put on my best MomFace and consider my next move.

What I won’t do is tell you ‘modest is hottest’. This is why:  I spent years preventing your Hannah Montana-loving eyes from seeing the “Wrecking Ball” music video. I steered you away from hyper-eroticized fashion dolls. The last thing I’m going to do is confuse you with a cute catchphrase implying that covering up will make you physically desirable.

I also won’t force you to change your outfit. I don’t own your body. You have been endowed with the sublime gift of agency, and I will not, even in that lovingly passive-aggressive way mothers have, attempt to take that away from you.

Oh, we’ll still have words about modesty and why it’s important—don’t get me wrong.

But maybe before it gets to this point, we should sit down and have an honest conversation that doesn’t dodge the tough stuff and couch doctrine in platitudes. I owe you that.

So here goes…

Let me tell you something. I have great legs for a woman my age. I could still rock a mini like it’s nobody’s business.

I just choose not to.

Maybe you’ve heard someone say that women should be modest because they don’t want to tempt boys into immorality, but that’s not what makes me pass up the Daisy Dukes and bandeaus.

I don’t dress modestly because I feel some kind of obligation toward male moral agency—and I don’t want you dressing modestly only so Johnny keeps his eyes on his math notes instead of on your backside. Making men the sole focus of modesty gives license to the idea that they are no more than club-wielding cavemen incapable of controlling their carnal urges, and I have a little more faith in humanity than that.

Here’s why I choose to cover up. I dress modestly because I believe that one way to close the gender gap is to stop giving so much importance to the thigh gap. My contribution to the world goes beyond cleavage:  I will not objectify myself. But most importantly, I choose modesty because I understand my divine nature. I believe that my body is a temple. I believe in glorifying God with my body—and with my spirit, which is the far harder lesson. I believe that modesty is more than what I wear.

You are ten now, all scabby-kneed body joy and breathless with hope. But I can’t keep you little forever:  crushes and stick-on nails are just around the corner. They lurk there in the shadows, with Temptation and Doubt and all the other trials that cross the path of teenage life and make you wonder if it’s worth it to hike up your skirt a little for the attention.

Before that time comes, a promise:

I will show you how to be beautiful and not merely hot.

I will teach you that your body is a miracle, not something to be afraid and ashamed of.

I will talk to you about sleeves and necklines, but also about modesty in thought and in word, the kind of grace that calls attention to your divine potential as a daughter of God and helps you focus on what is truly meaningful in life.

All of my love forever,

Mommy

What Every Girl Should Know about Her Mother: I Love Myself

by Katy White

Dear Baby Girl,

I have a secret to tell you. It’s a secret that most of the world would insist I have no right to have. Advertising executives would grit their teeth, the fashion industry would tell me I must be deluded, and too many women on the street would accuse me of vanity for this opinion. Yet I hold fast to it.

I absolutely adore myself.

I think I’m brilliant. I have never met a subject I can’t work hard enough at to learn. Perhaps I'm naturally clever (at least, it’s the family curse to assume so), but the smartest thing about me is that I’m not afraid to work relentlessly for the things I care about.

I think I’m beautiful. Even with the eyelashes of an albino, and especially because of my freckles. I wear makeup, not because I dislike myself, but because I enjoy enhancing what I already find so darn cute.  You and I both have stunning eyes, babe, and I love that about us. When our eyes locked for the first time, moments after you were born, you just kept staring into mine for what felt like days. I knew then that they must be even more beautiful than I thought.

I think I’m funny. It doesn’t matter if I say something I think is witty and get nothing but crickets in return. I like my sense of humor, and I positively love to laugh. In fact, I love to laugh more than I enjoy making others laugh, which is probably a good thing, just in case…

I love my hair. It’s thin and curly and sometimes wonky, with odd spots that twist the wrong way. No other hairstyle in the world suits me better…though, honestly, I’m not willing to try that many. I like my hair. It’s adorable. Why aim for someone else’s? Now hair color, on the other hand? Bring it on. I love myself with any color hair.

My body is a work of art. I can do the most incredible things. I can hold you for an entire loop around the zoo, even when you’re scrambling to break my grip and run around the gift shop. That’s real strength, cuz you are wiggly, kid. And I love my legs. You wouldn’t believe how much weight I can do on the calf-machine at the gym. It would embarrass most men to know, so I’ll keep it to myself (but it sounds a bit like shmee-hundred-and-shmorty). Beyond that, though, I have soft spots and curves that I think are positively lovely. Some people would disagree. They’d be wrong.

I’m a rad wife. Marriage is hard, baby girl. The world won’t ever let you forget that. But—and the world won’t ever let you remember this—it’s also the greatest thing in the entire universe. Our choices can make it so much harder…or easier. I consistently, maybe even daily, look for choices that will make marriage easier (your dad does this too, but that's a post for another day). Sometimes that means biting my tongue instead of saying the snarky comment that springs to my lips. Often that means letting something go, no matter how frequently that something impacts my life. Letting things go is a much better choice than saying something I may never be able to take back. A hand towel being used to wipe up a grease stain in the garage will never be worth more than your dad.

I am divine. I’m the daughter of God. My spirit is of heaven, and it is even more beautiful than I can imagine (and, as we’ve established, I’m a little bit obsessed with myself). My worth is endless, limitless, infinite, just like yours.

Oh, my brilliant, beautiful, funny, divine little girl, always remember that you are all this, and more. Never allow someone or something to convince you otherwise. You are the sun and moon and stars. And you know what? The women around you are, too. Never allow them to feel otherwise, and never make them feel otherwise. Just about the most beautiful thing a person can do in life is help someone else realize her own beauty, too.

So, be beautiful, girl. Love yourself. Just like your mom.

A Makeover Story

Once upon a time there was a mom.  She was just an ordinary, every day sort of mom.  She lived a pretty ordinary life.  Then one day a very skilled up-and-coming stylist asked if she could do the mom’s makeup and hair.  This wasn’t the first time the young beautician had asked.  The mom thought for a moment and decided that perhaps it was time for a makeover, and agreed to the stylist’s request.

At first the mom had some serious doubts and thought that perhaps the whole idea was a big mistake.  However, she decided that life was meant to be lived and realized sometimes you just need to throw caution to the wind. 

After quite a few minutes the stylist handed the mom a mirror.  When the mom looked in the mirror she realized her new makeup would take some time to get used to, but when she saw the look of pure joy and satisfaction on the stylists face she new it was worth it. 

Next it was time for a new hair-do.  The stylist began to sing softly to herself as she pulled and tugged on the mom’s hair, pinning it here, clipping it there, until the stylist chirped out in a cheery voice, “All done!”

Then it was time for a mani-pedi.  The stylist began searching her collection of polish for the perfect combination of colors.  The mom gingerly rolled up her sleeves and pant legs and held her breath as the stylist dipped the tiny brush into the bottles of colorful paint. 

Finally it was time for the final touches of makeup.  The tiny beautician smiled and fluttered about adding bits of color for the perfect finishing touches. 

At last she once again handed the mirror over to the mom.  The mom stared into the mirror and could only smile.  She took her baby girl into her arms and squeezed her tight as she kissed her cheeks.  She thanked her daughter for the wonderful makeover.  The little girl's eyes lit up.  She clapped her hands and asked repeatedly, “Do you like it?”  The ordinary not so ordinary mom responded, “Yes, I love it.  Thank you.” And again she hugged her little girl.  

What Heaven Sees in You

When you're heart is down, please remember you are a beloved daughter of our Father in Heaven. He loves you.






(Doug Walker / Sherry Marks Walker)
Performed by: Doug Walker

Sent to this earth
You were saved through the ages for this day
and time
Child of great worth
Child of promise, daughter of the Divine
Pure and holy in a little, white dress
You were held in a circle and you were
blessed

And the Father looked down
And the angels surrounded that place
They knew the truth, all that you could do
And you will, too, if you have eyes to see
What heaven sees in you

Dressed in white once more
Making promises to follow in God’s way
So much lies in store
For the little girl who enters at the gate
Pure and holy in a little, white dress
You were led into the water and you were
blessed

Repeat Chorus

Do you understand who you are
Part of the Father lives in you
If you continue on this path
Every promise God has given will come true

Heaven on earth
In the house of God, so much fills your heart
and mind
Woman of great worth
Woman of promise, daughter of the Divine
Pure and holy in a long, white dress
You promise forever and you are blessed

And the Father looks down
And the angels surround that place
They know the truth, all that you can do
And you do, too, ‘cause you have eyes to see
What heaven sees in you

Will you have eyes to see
What heaven sees in you