It’s Sunday night and my husband is at the grocery store for me.
He offered. I gladly accepted.
It’s quiet here. And I was thinking about you. About today. Today I wore a dress that my mama bought me. It’s long and flowy and navy blue. And I wore dainty jewelry and braided sandals.
I wore my hair up and to the side.
There’s just something about feeling beautiful. Not perfect. Just lovely.
I wanted to take a picture of it. But I was worried that you might not think I was beautiful. Even though you are loving and wonderful and I’m so glad for each one of you.
I really care that you think I’m beautiful. And then I remembered something I had shared in church this morning. In church where we are talking about how deeply grace cuts and how completely grace heals. That healing cut, you know?
Last Wednesday found me in the Atlanta airport. In one of those lose the battle and win the war moments, I was shuffling through all the traveling bodies searching for milk.
I’ve been doing some real work on my heart and how I eat and what I eat and how I work my body and I was feeling good. I had on my favorite flowy tank top and my most favorite worn in jeans. They were rolled up just so. I felt comfortable in my skin.
Until I looked over and there was this perfectly beautiful, awesome, I’m-sure-she-bakes-cookies-and-runs-5-miles-everyday-and-keeps-her-house-spotless-and-look-at-her-adorable-outfit woman. She was really pretty.
My shoulders slumped under the weight of feeling very homely next to her loveliness.
But. And I believe this was the Lord. A question whispered by me.
Who says? Who says that I’m not beautiful, too?
It was the loudest whisper I’ve ever heard, still filling my ears with it’s wooshing and rustling up my heart.
The One who is a Master at forming and who lovingly whistled sweet songs over me as He looped and stitched me together? He is who decides on beauty. So I walked a little straighter. And I took this picture even though I hate pictures of myself because I never feel pretty in them and I worry that others will look at all my faults. Also I forgot to put lipstick on.
Brick by brick. Brick by brick He is starting to rebuild my undoing.
Edit: I so appreciate all of your sweet comments. I am going to receive them without swatting them away because I know the heart you gave them in. But. I hope, too, that wherever you feel homely or burdened by comparison you hear this whisper louder than any other thing.