Ms. Rose was one of the women we would see on Wednesdays when I took my students line dancing at a senior activity center in Philadelphia.
She was a sweet older lady who would sit and watch from the edge of the room as her friends took to the dance floor. Her feet had carried her through years of life and now found rest in watching others glide across the dance floor.
One Wednesday with her stood out among the rest. It was Ms. Rose’s birthday. So when we walked in, I planted myself next to her, eager to wish her a happy birthday.
“Happy Birthday, Ms. Rose! How’s your day going?”
“I know I’m beautiful,” she said.
“You are beautiful!” I agreed, tickled.
“And if you saw a picture of me when I was younger, you’d know I was beautiful.”
“I don’t need to see a picture,” I replied. “I’m looking at you right now and you are so beautiful.”
“Oh, and if you saw my daughter… she is beautiful.”
“I know she’s beautiful because you are beautiful, Ms. Rose.”
“Let’s get a good look at you,” she said. I wish I’d known to brace myself.
She slowly turned to look at me, taking in each of my facial features.
“You’re okay.”
My friends, I ran out of that conversation as fast as I could. Ms. Rose taught me something about myself that day. We’ll get to that in a minute.
I was in middle school with two peg teeth (think of small teeth that look like a pirate’s wooden leg…) and two front teeth that would later be compared to “bunny teeth” by my family’s exchange student. I knew I would be beautiful if I got braces. Months passed as I endured every metal contraption you could think of in order to obtain the normal teeth I longed for. Surely, this road of pain and embarrassment would earn me beauty in the end.
Then, the pimples started appearing slowly after I had my braces removed. I say slowly, but it wasn’t long before my face looked like a pepperoni pizza. And it hurt. Physically, it felt like someone had power punched areas of my face. I spent my free time yelling at God and wondering why He assigned me to bare, what seemed to be, an entire city’s face-worth of acne. I used words I would never say to my worst enemy in my conversations with the Lord. The creation telling the Creator He had messed up. This is never okay.
My parents spent years buying the next big medication that would heal my skin. I eventually found one that cleared the acne.
I finally felt beautiful. I think.
The full process of the acne medication caused my thin, fine hair to fall out in chunks. I immediately went to the salon and chopped my hair off. My hairdresser spun me around and I held back tears.
Emotionally, I was undone. What does a person have to do to look like your everyday magazine model who’s been electronically enhanced to portray a look that’s humanly impossible? Sheesh – I wasn’t asking to move mountains.
There’s always some part of ourselves we question God on.
Why am I not more athletic?
Why can’t my legs look like theirs?
If I was smarter, I swear I would serve the Kingdom better.
Maybe people would like me more if I had a different personality.
My story doesn’t fit in a box with a perfect bow like everyone else’s.
It’s always something.
It’s funny—I’m not competitive. I don’t really care who scores a touchdown in your basketball game. I don’t really mind getting destroyed in a ping-pong challenge against my students. However, in the swampy bits of my soul, I do want to have a better outfit than you. I want my platform to be more unique and reach more than hers. I’d like for the room to be more excited when I walk through the door. I would prefer to leave you gawking over the clarity of my skin and the way my hair naturally looks shiny, soft and perfectly tousled.
But I’m not competitive. I told myself that for years.
I sit and compare and begin the cycle of competition because I don’t believe what God has given me is enough. I want every area of my life to be beautiful. My made-up, society tainted version of beautiful.
I compare. And I always seem to forget who I should be comparing myself to.
I wish I could tell you I’ve discovered a formula, a process, or a clear road that has led to the end of this struggle to attain my own version of beautiful. It’s a daily battle, if not more.
Here’s what I’ve got—my current secret to life:
I’ve found that when I seek the beauty of my Savior—when I truly see my God as beautiful, I can’t help but get lost in total awe of Him. When I see my Creator as beautiful, I begin to see all His creation as beautiful – that includes me, and it includes you, too.
Psalm 104:1-4 says,
“My soul, bless the Lord! Lord my God, you are very great; you are clothed with majesty and splendor. He wraps himself in light as if it were a robe, spreading out the sky like a canopy, laying the beams of his palace on the waters above, making the clouds his chariot, walking on the wings of the wind, and making the winds his messengers, flames of fire his servants.”
As I meditate on these verses, I am overcome with a striking image of God.
When I find myself clawing for beauty, I reach to my King. I take my heart’s eyes off of myself and onto the most beautiful thing I know: Jesus. I don’t just stare; I seek more of Him. I claim ground in the Throne Room in prayer, I annoy my downstairs neighbors as I stomp around my apartment to worship songs, I write down lists of the ways He’s been good and faithful and kind, and I revel in them… I can’t get enough of His wonder.
I stand in total awe of Him and His creation. As I mentioned, that includes you. So, what do I do from here? I champion others. Instead of comparing, I celebrate. I celebrate a God who delights in individuality, originality, and uniqueness. I celebrate you—for all you are. Every freckle. The way you tilt your head back when you laugh. The way you communicate and every talent that is so divinely given to you. I celebrate that, in knowing your beauty, I’ve encountered pieces of the beauty of the Creator.
I’ve learned to celebrate me, too. All the pieces I thought were out of place are the things that make me one of a kind, beautifully made, and the reflection of a King.
Thinking back on Ms. Rose, I can’t help but be brought back to my Father. I know I’m beautiful because my Father is beautiful and says it of me too.
Psalm 139:14 says,
“I have been remarkably and wonderfully made. Your works are wonderful, and I know [this] very well.”
I can see it now. With gentle and knowledgeable hands, my Creator finished my last stitch.
I’m sure all of Heaven was leaning in as He might have whispered, “Let’s get a good look at you…”
And with pride and kindness in His eyes, He said, “It is good.”
Take some time today and celebrate the wonder of your Creator, call out the beauty in others, and yourself that has been given by Him—and celebrate it. God knew what He was doing when He created me. God knew what He was doing when He created you.
Faith Grosshans
Student Associate
