Behind Those Eyes: What's Really Going on Inside the Souls of Women

Praise for BEHIND THOSE EYES

"Lisa Whittle is a fresh voice on the scene, speaking words of encouragement to her generation. She is warm, witty, real, and reliable. She writes with effervescent joy and studied insight. You will be blessed by Behind Those Eyes. Lisa lets you in behind her eyes . . . what you see will refresh and challenge you."

—JAN SILVIOUS, Speaker and Author, Big Girls Don’t Whine

and Smart Girls Think Twice

"Behind Those Eyes is like an invitation to a fancy masquerade party. Lisa, as the hostess, invites each guest to consider the mask (Ms. Perfection, Ms. Happiness, and others) she has chosen to hide her insecurities and heartaches. Then Lisa gives each guest the best party favor: encouragement to consider removing her mask to allow the beauty of Jesus to radiate through the real woman behind the fancy mask. Lisa’s message was a fresh reminder to me to resist the temptation to pick up my mask of Ms. Perfection."

—JACKIE KENDALL, National Speaker and Best-Selling Author; President, Power to Grow Ministries

Lisa Whittle shines a brilliant light into the games we play with ourselves—which become, then, the places where we doubt God and our own lovableness. She writes honestly, and she writes well. This book is a personal invitation to experience that Love, which of all loves, is the best.

—PAULA RINEHART, Author, Strong Women, Soft Hearts

and Better Than My Dreams

"In an entertaining and articulate style, Lisa Whittle opens the way for a look inside ourselves to see the good, the bad, and the ugly roles we play as women. Behind Those Eyes exposes refreshing solutions and ways to find the hidden root of the roles we play to hide ourselves. Don’t miss this opportunity to rise up and be your true self in Christ Jesus!"

—MARCIA RAMSLAND, The Organizing Pro,

International Speaker and Author, Simplify Your Life,

Simplify Your Time, and Simplify Your Space

"Yes! Finally a book that doesn’t try to teach me how to be the perfect Christian woman! Instead, it’s a book that teaches me to embrace the reality that I’m truly an imperfect woman who serves a perfect God, and He thinks I’m pretty amazing just the way I am, warts and all! Thanks, Lisa. Every woman who struggles with the great charade needs to read this (and I think that includes us all!)."

—LESLIE NEASE, Women’s Speaker and Writer, New Life 91.9

Radio Host, Survivor: China contestant, Imperfect Wife and Mother

"It’s not the shoes, not even the outfit . . . it’s what’s going on inside a woman that creates the facade of how she presents herself to others. In Behind Those Eyes Lisa Whittle gets to the heart of the matter, helping us acknowledge the fears and insecurities we feel. Her insight and encouragement to live honestly and transparently are refreshing gifts to us all."

—TAMMY MALTBY, Cohost, Aspiring Women, and Author,

Confessions of a Good Christian Girl

"In Behind Those Eyes Lisa Whittle offers an open invitation to truth-filled relationships. Taking a page from her own struggles for authenticity, Whittle writes with a fresh perspective on the impersonating roles we all fall into and why it is so hard for women just to be real. A message of courage and hope is found in this book, helpful to any woman trying to find out how to embrace her created self!"

—MARY KASSIAN, Author, Speaker, and Distinguished Professor

of Women’s Studies, Southern Seminary

© 2007 Lisa Whittle

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or any other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.

Thomas Nelson, Inc. titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.

Unless otherwise marked, Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible: New International Version®. © 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan Publishing House. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NLT are taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, © 1996. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, IL 60189. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked MSG are taken from The Message by Eugene H. Peterson. © 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked NKJV are taken from the New King James Version®. © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked TLB are taken from The Living Bible. © 1971. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Wheaton, Illinois 60189. All rights reserved.

Scripture quotations marked KJV are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

Page Design by Casey Hooper

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Whittle, Lisa.

Behind those eyes : what's really going on inside the souls of women / Lisa Whittle.

     p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references.

ISBN 978-0-7852-2813-4 (pbk.)

1. Christian women—Religious life. 2. Christian women—Conduct of life. I. Title.

BV4527.W498 2007

248.8'43—dc22

2007046474

Printed in the United States of America

08 09 10 11 RRD 5 4 3 2 1

To Colleen . . .

My best friend for life and one of the most real people I know.

We were meant to journey together.

Definitely.

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

part one

THE GREAT CHARADE

one The Truth Hurts

two Ms. Perfection

three Ms. Confidence

four Ms. Happiness

five Ms. Spirituality

part two

THE MASSIVE COVER-UP

six Cosmetics for the Soul

seven The Feelings We Conceal

part three

THE REAL DEAL

eight We Are Completely Loved and Accepted Completely

nine We Are Completely Flawed yet Forgiven Completely

ten The Truth Heals

Bible Study Guide

Notes

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I marvel at how God put people in my path in order to allow this book to be born. It truly wouldn’t have been possible without these key people in my life . . .

My support team of family and friends. The Reimers and the Whittles (two amazing families!), the Minors and the McGees (your friendship blesses Scotty and me more than you know), and our wonderful, thriving network of friends at Hickory Grove North—may we continue to do life together for many years to come.

My divinely connected new friend, Debbie Wickwire. I love how God led me to you, and I thank you for your open and discerning spirit, which allowed Him to guide you to believe in this project . . . and me.

My friends at Thomas Nelson Publishers. Thank you, Joey Paul, for seeing strength in this book and for your endorsement of it! And thanks to Jennifer Stair and Rhonda Hogan for your wise counsel and input. You women rock!

The women who inspired the stories in this book. I am becoming increasingly aware of how many gifted and wonderful women are out there who share my desire to get real. Thank you for your willingness to become vulnerable enough to share your stories in this book.

My three precious children: Graham, Micah, and Shae. You guys blow me away with your pure love for God. My greatest desire is that you feel the depth of His love toward you. Only He could love you more than Dad and me.

My husband and very cool life partner, Scotty. I praise God daily that He made you strong enough to handle this independent soul, and you do it with such mad love for me. (And lots of necessary humor!)

My heavenly Father, who never stops amazing me. Thank You for fixing everything in me that was ever broken. Please accept this book as my yes to You. You are my life.

part one

THE GREAT

CHARADE

one

THE TRUTH HURTS

What you’re after is truth from the inside out.

—PSALM 51:6 MSG

It was the first time I remember being completely, brutally honest. I was six years old, and my friend Tina had invited me to attend a comedy show with her family one Friday night. Like any six-year- old, I was excited to get to go somewhere with someone besides my parents . . . even if I didn’t quite understand what comedy was or where I was going. Going to the theater seemed such a grown-up thing to do, and I couldn’t wait.

When the night arrived, Tina and her mom picked me up at my house. After a round of hugs and kisses from my parents, we were on our way. The ride to the theater was filled with giggles from the backseat as Tina and I chatted away about the flavors of our new lip glosses and showed each other our sparkly shoelaces . . . things of monumental importance to six-year-old girls. The drive was short, and we arrived in the theater just as the show was starting. I settled into my padded seat on the front row of the auditorium, with Tina on my right side and a complete stranger—a man in his midforties—on my left.

The curtain parted and the performers took their place. They did a few silly things, a few entertaining things, and a few things I didn’t quite understand. Little did I know that in a matter of moments, the opening illustration for this book would be born out of a hugely embarrassing moment in my young life.

We watched a comedian perform a short stand-up comedy routine. I didn’t know what a standup routine was at the time, but I did know that the guy onstage was only a little funny, and I was getting bored. I started to squirm. I was just about to ask Tina’s mom if I could be excused to go to the restroom when I heard the man onstage engage the audience with a question. Will you do me a favor? he asked. My little six-year-old self perked up. I had my best listening ears on, waiting for the asked favor, ready for action. Look beside you, on either side. If the person sitting next to you is ugly, please stand up. What a strange favor to ask, I thought.

I looked to my right and saw my friend Tina. She was a beautiful, petite girl who was anything but ugly. No luck there. I turned my head to the other side to glance at the man sitting to my left. When I did, he looked at me with a horrified expression as if anticipating what I might do. His fears were warranted. Without hesitation, I sprang to my feet to bear witness to the fact that the man had been a little less than blessed, genetically speaking.

Since I was on the front row, my actions were hard to ignore. The crowd roared with laughter at the sight of a little girl in her most honest state, standing to her feet at the bogus request of a man with a microphone. I turned around to see that no one else was standing, and although I barely knew what a joke was, I quickly realized that the joke was on me. I sat down as fast as I could, wishing I had never stood. But the damage was already done.

OUR NEED FOR AUTHENTICITY

Many years later, I am still both horrified and humored by this true story. It is hard for me to tell it without cringing at my willingness to spill the beans about the looks of a stranger sitting beside me! But I have come to realize that such is the innocence and honesty of children. And although they don’t quite understand how to tactfully handle their honesty yet, bless them for their lack of pretense.

This is the kind of gut-level honesty that only pure-hearted children can truly provide—the type of unedited truth that you appreciate on one hand and that crushes you like a can in a recycling bin on the other. These are statements from children like, Mommy, why is your tummy so squishy? Or, Eww . . . your breath stinks. Ouch. The truth hurts.

While such statements are painful enough coming from your own children, they are a bit harder to explain away when made to strangers. Like the time you take your precious child to the media store in the mall where a teenager struggling with acne is ringing up your purchases, and you hear a little voice behind you say, Sorry you have the chicken pox. Gulp. Since the powers to become invisible have already been checked out that day by one of the Fantastic Four, you grab your purchase, mumble a halfhearted thanks, and slink away. No save there.

Rudeness is never called for. But a little more honesty in the world might not hurt either.

Though you can get away with this kind of honesty when you are an innocent three-year-old, it is not recommended to try this level of candor in your Monday night Bunco group. Fortunately, most of us have enough manners to not intentionally offend someone by a hurtful comment. Please understand me. Rudeness is never called for. But a little more honesty in the world might not hurt either.

Perhaps the better word for what I’m trying to say is authenticity . . . being genuine, transparent, and real with one another. Of all the many shortcomings I have, I do not struggle often with saying what I feel. (Sometimes that is the problem!) I tend to be honest, if not a bit blunt sometimes.

I seek authenticity in my life, though I don’t always achieve it. And I cannot swallow pretense in any capacity. You know, the kind of pretense you sometimes feel from others and even sense yourself portraying in certain situations.

TALKING ABOUT NOTHING

I had one of these moments not long ago during a visit to my hair salon. Now, anyone who really knows me knows that I am a girly-girl. I love to have my nails done and think heaven must be something like a day spa. But with three young children and a busy life, I have to settle for my scheduled eight-week hair appointments. After all, the hair salon is a place I enjoy visiting. I admit: I am a sucker for the relaxing atmosphere in upscale salons . . . the bittersweet smell of hair products . . . the tranquil melodies piped throughout the room. I go to a place where the stylists are called artistic directors, and most of them sport funky haircuts, multiple piercings, and trendy attire. I have bought into the high-priced haircut, and my husband graciously indulges me by agreeing to pay the ridiculous cost to make me feel beautiful. And I usually enjoy it but not on this day.

After my initial meet-and-greet with my stylist, I was introduced to Bree, a cute girl with a retro haircut who would be my colorist for the day. I welcomed her presence as my grays were beginning to multiply and could no longer be plucked out with my tweezers.

Hi, Bree said. How are you today? I felt compelled, if not obligated, to engage in conversation with her. Fine, thanks, I responded. How about you? Good . . . good. Can’t complain, she said.

Since casual conversation was not really of interest to me at that particular moment, I looked down at the magazine I brought with me in the hopes that I might actually get to read an article or two before Bree was through with my hair. But she wasn’t picking up on my vibe very well. Do you have children? she asked, clearly only halfway interested. Yes. I have three, I answered. Oh, wow, she said. You must be really busy. More than you know, I thought. Yeah, pretty much, I replied. I knew I had to ask: How about you? Any kids? One little boy, Bree said.

At this point I noticed that we were talking at each other in short sentences, which made things a bit awkward, almost forced. Oh. Boys are great, aren’t they? I volleyed back to her. Yeah, they are, she said. Where do your kids go to school? It’s a private Christian school. Do you live on this side of town? I asked. She explained to me where she lived, and a few more expected questions followed.

At this point in our extremely stale and mechanical conversation, I started to become irritated. The kind of irritated where you want to literally jump out of your skin. The feeling you get when the guy behind you in the movies is talking too loudly. I was annoyed. And it wasn’t about wanting to read my magazine; I had long forgotten that I had even brought it with me. No, it was about something else entirely.

In that moment, I realized that Bree and I were talking about nothing.

Nothing at all. At least nothing that really mattered. Oh, we were having a conversation. We were playing verbal volleyball with our words, talking about topics—topics that held some marginally important elements but were still just topics. We were settling for a generic conversation that wouldn’t matter in about two seconds. And it irritated me.

Suddenly I had an overwhelming desire to stop Bree in her foiling process, spin my chair around to look at her, and ask, What are we talking about? What is the point to this conversation? What’s going on in your life right now? What is Bree really all about? I knew that hidden behind those warm hazel eyes, a story was waiting to emerge.

But that would have been too intrusive . . . too personal for a couple of women who had just met and had a comfortable contractual relationship going on. And the sad reality was that on that day, I wasn’t willing for Bree to share more with me than what I had bargained for. It was far easier to impersonate a put-together mom with money to burn on a mod haircut than to share my heart with her. So I chose to settle for this boring interaction between us. Bree and I were both in full-on female impersonation mode.

FEMALES IMPERSONATING . . . FEMALES?

In 2000, our family moved to a beautiful home outside of Nashville. We were excited by the promise of a new job in a new city, though the area was unfamiliar to us. With the moving truck still parked in front of our house, I started unpacking boxes. In assembly-line fashion and with much fervor, I was able to