My Acne and Faith Journey Part 6: Despaired and Desperate Once Again
Saved to Tell Others
I was in fourth grade when I asked my grandmother what evangelio meant. I heard the priest mention it multiple times throughout the mass.
My grandmother replied, “It is evangelio.”
I was baffled by her response. Her response didn’t sound like a definition but just a repetition.
So, I asked again, “But what really is evangelio?”
With a stern face and a raised voice, she answered back, “It is what it is!”
From that time on, I didn’t dare to ask her religious questions.
As I grew up, I lost that curiosity. I forgot to ask the question, “What is evangelio? What is the gospel?”
Even though it took a long time for me to know what the gospel is, even though acne had to be the thing that moved me to know it for myself, I was still grateful that my acne and faith journey turned out this way.
God has been so faithful. He never forgot that I once asked.
Now that He had given me the answer, He had also given me the task to proclaim the gospel to those who probably once wondered but found no one to explain.
The youth pastor announced that we would share the gospel with college students.
I was excited and at the same time nervous; I knew we could be dismissed and even rejected because the students might see us as taking Jesus a bit too seriously.
But on the day of the gospel sharing, I woke up with two red giants on my face.
My skin had been on its best behavior for the past few days, and yet, it acted up the very day I had to be around people.
I stood before the mirror, scrutinizing my zits up close.
I didn’t only see the inflammation; I could also feel the pulsating and stinging sensation under my skin.
“This is bad,” I sighed. “It’s either the students will be distracted by the sight of my acne, or I will not be able to focus because my acne feels sore.”
I was so tempted to hide and stay in my cocoon.
But I didn’t want to come back to my old life anymore. I didn’t want to cradle my fragile golden calf of self. I wanted to deny myself and take up my cross.
I set out to the campus.
No, I wasn’t that bold in faith. I was still afraid.
I was deeply aware my sense of self-worth and self-image could crumble with just one pitiful stare, just one unasked-for advice.
But I thought I could just come back home, cry out to God, and ask for strength to endure.
My first taste of gospel sharing opened different evangelistic opportunities for me.
I became involved with sharing the gospel in a variety of settings. I led Bible studies for college students when I was still job hunting.
When I was hired as a public school teacher, I transitioned to holding Bible studies for high school students. I also became a volunteer in children’s ministry and local missions.
I could still clearly remember the times I was breaking out while I was in front of others sharing and teaching God’s Word. How I hated to be seen with bumps and pus and oily skin!
Although there were times I would relapse to my old habits and thought patterns whenever I saw breakouts crop up on my face, I gradually learned to not be limited by my skin condition and to live in God’s freedom.
Awful Acne Comments
I thought I was finally free, but the feeling was so short-lived.
I wanted to shift my focus away from my acne, but my resolve faltered.
I was at a family reunion when a teenage cousin, who was on the other side of the room, asked in a loud voice why I had breakouts.
I was at the faculty lounge when a colleague bluntly pointed out, “Your pimples are quite big. You have a hormonal imbalance.”
I was caught off guard. We rarely had chats, and now the conversation starter was my acne.
There were times on public transit when someone I knew from work or the neighborhood would come up to me, comment on my skin, and give me advice.
While their intentions might have been sincere, I found these situations extremely embarrassing. I felt uncomfortable having discussions about my skin in such a public setting.
But at least at church, they would focus more on my character and inner qualities. With their help, I could continue making progress in my Christian walk.
But I was wrong.
Out of the blue, my then-pastor told me I must buy his homemade soap to lighten the dark spots on my face. I was taken aback. I self-soothed and reassured myself it was nothing to be so offended about.
I thought it was just one instance that would never happen again. But I was proven wrong.
I was heading to the exit door when the pastor suddenly jeered at my acne. The worship leader and the other young church members around him laughed in response.
I expected those two men to be the more mature, more compassionate Christians.
I wanted to defend myself, but I found no word to say. I went home like a bullied gradeschooler even though I was 22 years old at that time.
The pastor also told me without hesitation that I must not be ashamed to share the gospel even though I had pimples. I felt betrayed and unappreciated.
How could he say that when just a few days ago I helped the church organize a youth event at the school where I was teaching?
How could he say that when I encouraged my students to attend, and even before that shared God’s Word with them?
I calmed myself down. I chose to forgive.
Yet, I was wrong that I just kept silent.
After a prayer meeting, he told me I must pray that my acne would go away. Hearing a pastor say those things were deeply confusing and disturbing.
It made me feel that my faith was small, even nonexistent, because there was no obvious answered prayer.
It made me feel that my acne was an outward sign that I had a spiritual issue.
Unfortunately, aside from the pastor, there were also church members who made comments on my skin.
I was on a local mission when another volunteer told me his face never broke out like mine.
After a long day of teaching kids in tropical heat and humidity, that was the last thing I wanted to hear.
My acne bothered me, but I took my focus away from my skin so I could minister to the children.
I was hanging out with the church members when one came up and told me she didn’t like my breakouts. She said I would have been beautiful if I didn’t have them.
How was I even supposed to react to a remark like that? Did she mean to encourage me?
When I explained to her my acne had been so persistent despite trying to manage them, she didn’t say anything but gave me a frown etched on her face.
The older church members took an issue against me for wearing makeup.
They said I wasn’t a good influence on the young girls at church. (A church member felt compelled to tell me that she heard this during a prayer meeting.)
They also pushed hard to convince me my makeup was making me sickly. (No, I was sickly because from Monday to Sunday, I had no adequate rest from working a full-time job and volunteering for church ministries.)
I was devastated. My makeup wasn’t heavy enough to be distracting.
I was only using mineral makeup to tone down the redness of my breakouts and even out my skin tone.
If they only knew how carefully I chose makeup for my acne-prone skin, they would understand I was wearing it to feel normal in my skin and not be the oddball in the crowd.
But they did not listen to my side; they did not restrain their tongue.
How could they think of me that way? I wished they would have taken notice of my good works instead and prayed that God would sustain me in my service to Him.
I would never be able to understand their conclusions that my makeup would spiritually endanger young girls and it was making me physically ill.
I was aware of my acne, so I never needed others to remind me because I could both feel and see the inflammation.
It was not OK that it was a topic for a small talk or a joke or an idle comment. It was not OK that it provoked me to be unkind and unsure of myself.
If they really wanted to talk to me about my acne, at least they could have done it with tact.
I became desperate again to regain my clear skin because people were commenting on my acne.
If I could successfully treat my skin, I wouldn’t have to wear makeup, and I wouldn’t have to hear someone tell me that there’s something wrong with my face.
Looking for treatments and products consumed my time and my money.
I would see some results, but they were never consistent. So, I had to go back to square one and start the whole process, making me spend more time and more money.
I became so guilty of spending my resources on my appearance.
Acne is not a physical handicap, but in many ways, it paralyzed me.
When I became a Christian, I was determined to live a life unaffected by my skin’s condition. However, all my intentions to live that way could not remain intact.
Of course, by my willpower alone, I would always falter. And so, I banked on the church to be my support system, but I was proven wrong.
Although the comments were far and few between, the tactlessness of their words unsettled my psyche.
I found myself alone in my room again, hurting and grappling with the weight of my frustration and anger and grief.
Maybe, as a Christian, acne is not something that I must be so preoccupied with.
Maybe, being affected by it is vain…frivolous.
But I just want to feel beautiful in my own skin again. Is that really vain? Because I feel that my body is broken and stupid for giving me breakouts.
I just want to believe I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
But forgive me, God. I can’t believe it.
Why is my faith not working?
Please save me once again.
