When I was young, I wanted to be pretty. “Dear God, let me
wake up pretty…please?!”
I would look at magazines and watch TV and I knew the pretty
girls had heart-shaped faces (mine was more round…with a chin poking out the
bottom), deep colored eyes of brown or blue (mine changed color daily and
though my drivers’ license says blue, that is not always the truth), silky hair
properly quaffed (not fuzzy curly hair with a mind of its own), long legs, arms
and necks, graceful like a giraffe (not stubby and short with the tread of a
baby elephant), and perfect teeth, skin and tone (don’t get me started about
the crooked, the blotchy and the pasty.)
So I decided that I could be nice, funny and smart and make
do with that. But I would never be pretty.
At church, I began to interact with Christian women and
noticed that they were past pretty – they were beautiful. Now I resigned myself
that I would never be pretty and to boost my self-esteem I was associating with
beautiful women instead? That made no sense at all. But I also felt no resentment
towards them and they accepted me as if I were one of them.
Then it hit me. I saw their beauty because they were kind
and caring… generous and soft spoken… good humored and tolerant… and they loved
me because I was their friend, didn’t judge me because I wasn’t as wonderful as
they were. Their beauty was the radiance of God and His message shining
through. It shone through any dull hair, extra pounds, odd habits. It so
overwhelmed the ordinary human figure and made each of them extraordinarily
beautiful and pleasing to God and then to me. I finally accepted that God had created me in His image and He was perfect. Once I did that, I knew why all my church ladies were so stunning. It was because they had accepted years ago that they were indeed children of God and in all their actions, exemplified His glory and purpose for mankind.
I have a new prayer now.
Dear God – I don’t want to be pretty anymore. I want to be beautiful. Amen.
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