Hello, Beautiful.

Do you realize how wacked out America is?

We have girls who think they need to be no more than 93.78 pounds to be beautiful, and so they starve themselves in an attempt to become the photoshop-ed girl on the movie poster.

We have girls who can’t stand the fact that their eyes are brown instead of green, hate how their smile shows so much gum when they laugh, and loath the fact that their thighs touch at the top.

We have girls who have so much pain bottled up in their hearts from their parents’ divorce that they find comfort in making their wrists bleed, as if the bleeding could somehow relieve the emotional pressure they can’t seem to evade.

That’s messed up.  But no one does anything about it.

Because surely if enough people cared, we wouldn’t still be dealing with this epidemic of broken-hearted, tear-stained girls who don’t have a clue who they are or where they’re going, nor believe they have any sort of beauty or value within them.

You’re beautiful.

A salty bead forms in the corner of each tightly shut eye, threatening to make a dash down her cheek at any moment.  The irregular rhythm of her heartbeat clashes with her shallow breaths and collides somewhere between her voice box and diaphragm, drowning out the words she so desperately wants to scream.  Her clenched fists are carving eight half-moons into her palms, but she’d rather have the throbbing pain than lose touch with reality.

He didn’t mean it, and he never will.

Heart pounding, tears spilling, mind screaming, she takes the knife.

You’re beautiful.

She studies the figure in the mirror.  The dress that graces her hips is probably tighter than he would’ve approved of, and he wouldn’t have liked the hemline either.  But he left her.  So why should she care?

Despite her efforts to avoid it, she’s suddenly lost in the world she used to know, a world of purity and innocence, a world unmarred by carelessness and lies, a world where she was safe.  But over time her trust was wounded over and over again, until at last that world was shattered, along with a large piece of her heart.

I thought he loved me…but if he can’t, why would anybody?

As she shrugs and begins to carefully coat her lips with dark red cream, she also coats her heart with yet another layer of blasé callous that will take years of miracles to wash away.

You’re beautiful.

It’s almost as if the handwritten words echo in her ear.  She turns over the photo to gaze at the younger reflection of herself she hasn’t seen in years; a preschooler on her fourth birthday in shoes too big, pink dress too long, and a smile with a size to match.  Despite the cake crumbs and sticky frosting that was undoubtedly on those chubby little fingers, his much larger hand was holding the smaller one in a gentle grasp that spoke of love and caring.

Always remember that, no matter what.

How could he have foreseen that one day, years later, those were the exact words she desperately needed to believe?  Perhaps he’s right; maybe she is beautiful.  With a restless sigh, she tucks the picture back into the envelope and turns to write a letter to the only man who ever truly loved her.

More than anything else, girls want to be beautiful; they want to be loved.  Obviously, they want to be loved by anybody, but in particular they need to be loved by a guy who will protect them.  While they’re growing up, that guy should be their dad or a father figure.  When they get married, that guy should be their husband.

I just realized the other day how God can be both our Lover and Father at the same time; it’s because the love of a father is just as jealous and protective as the love of a husband.  The church is called to be Christ’s bride, but we are also joint heirs with Christ.  Maybe that doesn’t make sense, but it’s okay because God’s got it all under control.  (The following Scripture talks about this!  If you don’t want to read it all, just read what’s in boldface and then I have a couple more things to say before I finish this rather lengthy post.)

 “Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord.  For the husband is head of the wife, as also Christ is head of the church; and He is the Savior of the body.  Therefore, just as the church is subject to Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything.

Husbands, love your wives, just as Christ also loved the church and gave Himself for her, that He might sanctify and cleanse her with the washing of water by the word, that He might present her to Himself a glorious church, not having spot or wrinkle or any such thing, but that she should be holy and without blemish.  So husbands ought to love their own wives as their own bodies; he who loves his wife loves himself.  For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as the Lord does the church.  For we are members of His body,[d] of His flesh and of His bones.  “For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.”  This is a great mystery, but I speak concerning Christ and the church.  Nevertheless let each one of you in particular so love his own wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.” (Ephesians 5:22-33)

 

You’re beautiful.  It doesn’t matter what shape of nose you have, what type of hair you have, what kind of body you have.  Listen to what God says about your beauty (Song of Songs anybody?).  Stop comparing who you are to everyone else and embrace your very own, unique beauty.

To steal a quote…

“Be yourself.  Everyone else is taken.”