Am I Beautiful?

I stood in front of them on the platform, where our eyes met.  I gazed over a wide sea of eager eyes across the auditorium, staring back at me hungry and hopeful, waiting for Truth. The conference leader had asked me to speak about the doubt, uncertainty and pain over one simple question…

Am I beautiful?

“I am so not qualified to answer this question,” I told her when she invited me to come and speak. On most days, I see myself as anything but beautiful. 

So I guess we start with the basics…what is beauty, anyway? Of course, this is a huge question. Creation is beauty. Worship is beauty. Family is beauty. Love is beauty. So many things reflect God's creation and presence and can be called "beautiful". 
 

Although beauty is not gender specific, I do believe women struggle with this concept more than men, in that at the core of a woman’s soul is a longing to unveil her beauty. And usually, for a woman, the context of the question starts with standards placed on personal, outer beauty. I am forty-something, yet still delight in my earthly father’s affirmation of my beauty. When he says, “you look very pretty, Melissa” (which he does often because he’s a wonderful father), my heart still melts.

This idea of beauty isn’t limited to the external, although the world certainly places an emphasis on that. Our desire to share beauty is far more than external: it not only includes, but demands the presence of an internal beauty – a beautiful heart. I do not feel beautiful when I am critical or mean-spirited or impatient or harsh. I do not feel beautiful when my relationships are not healthy and whole. I am not married but know that if God calls me to marriage, then I will long to unveil beauty to my husband, both in my outer and inner appearance.

Before others, we long to offer beauty to the world. This shows in many ways – our bent toward decorating a home, putting flowers on a barren table, or nurturing those we love with encouragement. Simply put, I am not at home if I feel as though I am not offering beauty to the world.

If taken in the context of God’s image, Scripture says that “God created human beings; he created them Godlike, reflecting God's nature. He created them male and female” (Gen 1:17, MSG). God’s nature defines beauty, and if He created us to reflect that nature, then it’s easy to understand the longing to unveil beauty to those we love, and to the world.

But earth-mirrors can be so cruel – especially when the enemy of our soul holds them up to our gaze.  Whether they reflect our external physical appearance or the internal courts we create for ourselves and for others, those mirrors are distorted and deceptive. There are just so many voices and pictures and ideals infused with lies that tell us we are not enough.  The first experience of rejection in our young lives can catapult us into a lifestyle of striving and performance. It is a bitter root that bakes slowly in us and over time, burns into our minds and hearts so deeply that we no longer recognize it.

We move from freely offering beauty to withholding it, out of fear that it will not be enough, or even worse…rejected. But the desire to unveil it remains despite the rejection…so we strive (and strive, and strive some more) to achieve some imagined benchmark that God never intended to exist.

But it’s so simple, really.  So very simple. 

I am beautiful when I am not striving to be beautiful.

When I’m not obsessed with my appearance.

When I’m not obsessed with my performance.

When I’m not worried about what others think of me.

When I’m truly listening to and connecting with someone else.

When I fully open myself to giving and receiving love.

When I openly share my heart with someone else.

When I freely accept God’s love, mercy and grace.

When I am no longer Melissa the earth-girl, but Melissa the Spirit-filled girl.

I am beautiful when I am at rest, because that’s where He is.

And He is beautiful.  

Those who look to Him are radiant (Ps. 34:5).
 

Her Hands.

It's her day. A day to celebrate a woman like no other … my sweet Mom.

This is one of my favorite pictures of Mom and me. I’m pretty sure I was about four years old here. And check out Mom’s bee hive – hubba hubba! But seriously…I have often said that I love her hands in this picture. They captivate me. Her hands reveal much more about her than her perfectly shaped hair or radiant smile. Her hands show the depth of her heart.

My mother’s sweet spirit and loving heart are so very apparent to all who know her. But only some know her story. Mom’s childhood was very difficult. Those beautiful hands had desperately tried to fight off abusers and bullies for many years. Those hands had shielded her own face in sorrow and shame. Those hands had begged and prayed for acceptance.

Jitterbugging to "I Can Help" (read about it here)

Yet even so...she overcame. Those once-earnest hands went on to hug me every single day…and to lovingly stroke the birthmark on my forehead as I fell asleep on her lap and to cradle me when I cried. Her hands held mine as we danced, and they pushed the swing as Mom sang our made-up song…"Mommy and Melissa, swingin’, swingin’, we’re having fun!"

Her hands have always freely offered me the love and affection for which they had long ago grasped.

As far back as I can remember, her hands have created beautiful pastries and dishes. Mom would work so hard, for days and days, to prepare beautiful culinary delights for our family, neighbors, friends, and church family. She loved opening our home to guests and showing hospitality. Needless to say, our house was a favorite for sleepovers with my friends!

Her hands have created beauty.

During my teen years, Mom and I weren’t as close. Like many teens, I "knew it all" and didn’t respect her much. I would give anything to get those years back. Even in the midst of my making some seriously DUMB decisions, she showed her love and affection for me, and I know that she never stopped praying for me. In my twenties, something just clicked and I began to see her differently. Although it had always been there, her ability to forgive and to love unconditionally began to draw me in to her in a new way. The Lord was working powerfully in her life, and although I didn't realize it until later in my own life, she was Jesus to her wayward daughter (me) for many years. (For the other Moms of lost daughters out there…I pray that brings you encouragement. Don’t give up. I don’t know where I would be right now without the faithful prayers and love from my Mom and Dad.)

Her hands have freely offered grace.

From that point on, I wanted to study her, and I have been ever since. I cannot describe the depth of my love for my mother.

Over the years, I have had the privilege of observing those same hands lovingly and oh-so-meticulously create unique and beautiful crafts and arrangements and beautiful treasures that have brightened the lives of so many.

Unbeknownst to me until around the time I turned thirty, her passion for cooking and hospitality had taken root in my heart as well. I began to see my own hands mimicking my memory of hers, as she intricately and carefully thumbed through cookbooks, writing menus, creating masterpieces in the kitchen and crafting beautiful presentations at gatherings of family and friends… infusing a piece of her heart into every touch.

And most beautifully, I have studied the hands that faithfully pray. My sisters and I joke that Mom must have some sort of direct line to God, because when she prays (and she prays all the time), stuff happens! And her hands lift in praise, too. From my hospital bed just a few months ago, as four doctors pushed Mom and Dad away as they surrounded my bed during a critical complication, I caught a glimpse of her. I was so scared. My eyes searched to find Mom and Dad standing together. Dad, bless his heart, was weeping and I knew he was praying. I was so comforted by that…he was fighting for me, as a good Daddy would. But Mom…Mom had a huge smile on her face as her eyes gazed upward, with her beautiful hands lifted. Mom was lifting me up and praising Jesus on my behalf…praising Him even in advance of His blessing.

Her hands have loved well.

I heard someone say once that “One day, you’ll be putting on your coat, and you’ll look down to see your mother’s hand come out from under the sleeve.”

I hope so. I really hope so.

Her children arise and call her blessed, her husband also, and he praises her: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. Honor her for all that her hands have done,and let her works bring her praise at the city gate. (Proverbs 31:28-31 NIV)

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom. Thank you for who you are. Thank you for loving me like Jesus then and now. Thank you for being my most faithful cheerleader, mentor, advisor, encourager, and friend. I can't imagine my life without you. I love you so very much, and I am proud to call you Mom. 

 

True Horizon

We vacation each year on a very secluded and sparsely populated section of the Gulf Coast, about 25 miles down a long, narrow peninsula, far away from everything.  We don’t mind sacrificing the long drive to civilization for the pure, unobstructed views up and down the beach and out into the horizon. 

I’ve always been so fascinated by the mystery of the horizon.  As my father (a former seaman) has explained to me over the years, the “true horizon” is the actual point on the line at which you can no longer distinguish the earth from the sky.  On most days, if you fix your eye on the clearest, sharpest part of the line, you will see a beautiful halo effect coming out from it.  Where the halo is, the "true" horizon is. 

On our last trip, with an impending tropical storm out further in the Gulf, we experienced very high winds and therefore, very rough water and high waves.  I was fascinated to observe that the true horizon never disappeared – halo and all.  It was right there, amidst the huge waves, just as it was on the previous days when the ocean was as smooth as a big sheet of glass.  Regardless of the circumstances of the weather or waves, that mysterious, magical line was there and visible.  And beautiful.

As I thought about it, I realized that the true horizon line at which Earth meets Heaven is in me, too.  Some days, I'm the trusting, loving smooth-as-glass girl.  And on others, I am one scary raging rough-water lady.  But that place where I let go and disappear into Him is always beautiful.    

  

You see, if we really believe what we say we believe  as Christ followers, then we become that place where Earth meets Heaven because His spirit is in us.  We are a place at which the beauty of His Creation disappears into the deeper and eternal beauty of Heaven.

The place where the truth of hope and healing found in the Lord heals the brokenhearted.     

The place where the richest, most unexpected blessings are found in the midst of the deepest of suffering.  

The place where the angels become our dance partners as we celebrate His blessings, presence and love. 

The place where the peace that passes all understanding miraculously overtakes the things of this earthly life that seem impossible to bear.   

The place where I end and where He begins.