Of Fading Beauty

I saw a portion of a fashion show on-line this morning - just a snippet, really. I was drawn in because something about the fashion/modeling world has always intrigued me, so I didn't necessarily go in with a critical eye, but with one that appreciates a certain artform, really, to the whole production of it all.

And in that clip of the final moment, all these beautiful young women, standing on the end of the catwalk, laughing, holding hands, smiling - as if this were the culmination of the best time of their lives - I was struck by the reality of it. Rather than envying their solid thighs and flat stomachs, I saw their future laid out before me.

They will spend the rest of their lives trying to hold on to this moment.

This moment where beauty equals flawless make-up and zero percent body fat. The world, too, will do nothing to make them believe they should not do all in their power to cling to their youth. Aside even from the barrage of "beauty" messages flung at all women daily, it's just the fact they have now displayed themselves for all to see - as icons of beauty and perfection. And when the worldly definition begins to fade in their own bodies, outsiders will hold up their photos - the fallen angels who maybe have bags under their eyes, imperfect skin or (gasp!) cellulite - and do all in their insecure power to be sure we all see how they have faltered. They've "let themselves go" - as if it's the personal responsibility of the individual to stop time or the aging process altogether.

And I pitied them. Because they most likely have little reason to believe this endless pursuit of youth and beauty which has been their livlihood, their world, is nothing but a passing shadow. That maybe there is a beauty in aging naturally. That maybe they have more to offer the world than a perfect body. And that, maybe, there are things in this world (and most certainly above this world) that are worthy of so much more attention, of grasping, than what they have been told.

And I pity us - and every girl at home - who sees this culminating moment and feels maybe they lack something and maybe they, too, given the right make-up or clothes, can achieve this form of perfection and this defining moment of joy that comes from reaching the summit (a peak which comes far too early in life, if youth is truly the goal).

There is just so much more to this life than the world will allow others to believe. Who will tell them?

Of a Natural Beauty

Just the other day, I pinned my hair up quickly before heading out the door. While hurrying to catch a glimpse of the back, just to be sure all was in place, I snatched an old compact, opened to view the reflection of my reflection and noticed the flesh-colored powder pressed in the bottom, suddenly remembering the feeling of swiping this material over the skin of my face.  It's been two years this month since I first stepped past that drawer, forever cutting the task from my daily routine.

I didn't realize, at the time, my simple motion of rebellion against the lies of my culture, the lies that God's beauty was not enough, would forever change how I saw myself.  

It was just a step.

And sometimes that's all it takes.

At the time I took that small step, made the small decision once a day to not open that drawer and defile my face, it was strange. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl not quite up to par. I didn't match the beautiful pictures I'd previously seen of myself. My lashes were too light, my pores too noticeable, my skin too marred by the past. I didn't feel this unpainted face was the best version of myself, it wasn't normal to be simply me.

Yet, this past week, as I recalled the sensation of powder on my skin, this is now what felt strange. It was almost unimaginable to consider picking up that compact to coat my face with a foreign substance again. It wasn't normal. The walking past of my drawer is no longer a conscious thought - it simply doesn't even register.

Two years later, I see beauty in the mirror - a beauty that comes from no effort of my own, a recognition of God's handiwork. My old way of life has gone and feels strange to myself.

And if He can do this on the outside, how much more can He do this on the inside. 

I long for the day when an angry word feels foreign on my tongue. The thought of lashing out will seem so abnormal. The drawers holding jealousy, bitterness and fear will remain closed as I march past, choosing, instead, the true beauty of a character of Christ.

Because there is beauty in there, a beauty I have too long ignored and covered over.  Lord, let the clothing of myself in your love be the most important part of my daily routine until it's not even a conscious thought, it will simply be me becoming who You have made me to be.