She sits in gym class, eyes cast down and hair falling forward. Wishing she could be like ‘them’ but knowing that her hand-me-down tennis shoes and shorts embroidered with another?s name will be her future. Forever living in someone else?s clothes but wishing she could live in someone else?s body. Chips and sodas add pounds to her misery, layering one hurt upon another. And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She sits cross-legged against a brick wall in tattered jeans, a too tight tee-shirt, piercings in places that seem to scream „ouch!? and a tattoo of a torn heart emblazoned on her shoulder. Long brown hair once tinted red begs for a fresh wash. Jet black mascara circle hollow eyes and point to the emptiness of the soul deep below. And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She glitzes across the runway. Shutterbugs flash capturing her every turn and twist. A deep tanned, well-toned body struts and poses at every angle. Gleaming blond hair and a spray-on smile make for the Vanity Fair cover. Designer clothes, luxury cars and of course glamorous parties – the world is hers except in her heart. There she is alone – all the time. And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She lies alone in a hospital bed. Newborn son asleep in her arms. What last name will she give him? Sad choice to make. So young and yet so old; ashamed, abandoned and awfully afraid. A tear drips from her cheeks and christens the baby into her world of uncertainty. And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She wipes her hands on a dish towel, looks at the clutter on the table and notices her distorted image against the smudgy glass door. She wonders how her husband could ever find her attractive. A cheerleader shape now transfigured by three childbirths and her makeup often replaced with peanut butter and jelly smeared kisses. Hair worn back in a ponytail and a wardrobe that consists mostly of jogging pants, sweat shirts and sneakers. The jogging she does is not on the trail but rather from school, to store, to little league practice and dance recitals, again and again, over and over. Day after day she tells herself that she will devote some time to spruce up her image but it just doesn?t seem to ever happen. And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She walks to the parking deck, keys in hand. Another day another dollar. “Is this all there is?” Her husband dumped her last year for a woman a few years younger with much less mileage on her face. But the kids need a home so it?s work, work, and more work. She longs to be held, loved, caressed, and to be admired but there is no one. Just her and the kids. And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She looks in the mirror. The hair is gone, gaunt features stare back and that „c? word sticks in her parched dry throat. Cancer has taken her looks and replaced it with someone she doesn?t know. Trembling hands fold in prayer as she tries to hold on. “Oh God! Where did my life go?” And He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
She is tired and worn. Husband died last year, kids are grown, grandkids are busy doing what grandkids do, even her church seems out of touch with the needs of her heart. She does not want to be pushed aside as if she is yesterday?s meatloaf. There is plenty she could do, plenty she could tell if only someone would listen. But the world is too fast and in too much hurry for a gray old woman who walks a bit slow. But He says, “You are beautiful to me.”
And He tells you and He tells me, “You are beautiful to me.” Beautiful because He made us, beautiful because He designed in each one of us a Cinderella heart. A heart that dreams of wearing princess clothes and riding off in a glittering carriage. A heart that dreams of dancing in glass slippers. A heart that was made to fall in love with a Prince. No matter where you have walked; in bare feet, sneakers, stilettos, boots, pumps, flip-flops, house-shoes, corrective shoes, loafers or even flippers, your feet were made to slide into something made for royalty. Our Prince sees beyond the outer trappings. He sees a woman of timeless age and beauty. He longs to bring that beauty to the surface and He does one moment at a time as we surrender our lives to Him. As we loose our death-grip on the buttons of control, let go of the zipper of pride, unsnap the phony lined jackets, and pry our hands off the belt of regrets then slowly those old garments drop and we are ready to put on our dancing clothes. Dear sister you are a chosen, exquisite, dearly loved Princess Bride. Put on your glass slippers and dance it – for you are beautiful to Him!
“He has taken me to the banquet hall and His banner over me is love.”
Song of Solomon 2:4
