I have rarely consider myself beautiful. I've always wondered why someone would want to be friends with me. I don't consider myself cool. I'm just a shy girl in the corner, who just wanted to be liked. I felt I didn't have much offer or that I'm not that special. My friends, family and God over the past year have started to erode this thinking in my head. I'm starting to see a new me emerge. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. God calls me, his creation, good.  

This week, an elderly neighbor, who is mostly stuck at home, sat on the porch with his wife. I often stop and talk to him because he likes to practice his English (plus he was a doctor in Haiti and is really interesting). I met his wife this week for the first time in the two years that I've lived on my street. He's often talked about her and how she's been struggling. She has a lovely smile and as I tried to brighten her day, she brightened mine. She mentioned that her husband wanted her to meet me because of the kindness I'd shown to her husband. I'd made an impression. My gift was my time. Their gift to me was the realization that came much later. I was a gift. 

Slowly, I'm coming to terms with the fact that outwardly I'm not perfect. Never have been nor will I ever be, nor will anyone else for that matter. Perfect isn't what makes something beautiful. It's the polished surface marred with age and hardships. Beauty and perfection are not the same. It's the chiseled character that makes someone beautiful. It's being as we are with those beautiful blemished scars decorating the surface of who we are that defines where we've come from and who we are. That in and of itself is truly beautiful. I've always thought that I wasn't seen as beautiful by anyone else. More and more I'm realizing that no, it's I that am not opening my eyes. I need to let myself be beautiful, the way God made me. God sees me that way. Why can't I? In not believing God, I've devalued myself. So today, I'm walking a little taller because I choose to let myself believe God. I'm letting myself be described as beautiful. To let myself be beautiful.

You know those times when life seems to slow down for a bit and you don’t know why…September 1, 1999 was one of those days. The day had been good. I’d made a friend and had someone to sit with at lunch. For the first time since starting at my new school, I felt like I belonged. After a week into my freshman year of high school I already had a ton of homework. Upon arriving home I promptly sat down and started working on my homework like the good girl. My family decided to go take a trip down to the river. I felt I should go, but declined because my homework obviously wouldn’t do itself. My dad had always told me “Sometimes you just have to do what you don’t want to do.” Besides, I’d see them all at dinner later. We were headed to church for the night and I’d way rather go there. To go, my homework had to be done. That was the rule.

So as I sat there doing what I didn’t want to do, I couldn’t help but wonder what my family actually was doing. I don’t remember much about church that night, but I do remember my father laughing and looking a bit tired. What I really remember happened right before I went to bed…

My father had to go to work. I had my pajamas on and teeth brushed. Already in bed while listening to everyone else getting ready, I felt an urgency I’d never felt before. I knew I had to say goodbye to my father before he left. I tried to sleep, but the feeling wouldn’t leave. As my dad passed my room to leave, I jumped out of bed and ambushed him in the hallway. I gave him a huge hug. I told him I loved him and said goodbye. My brother and mom followed.

I returned to my bed with a warm happy feeling. I listened intently as my father’s heavy footsteps trudged down the mighty wooden hill and clomped over the floor to the kitchen. I savored the sounds of him pulling out a chair and plopping down his worn work boots. He chatted softly with my mother as I heard ice cubes fill his water jug. He grabbed his keys from the top of the refrigerator and hung them on his key clip. Kissed my mother and went out the back door. His truck door slammed and the white Dodge Ram roared to life.

As the noise of his truck faded into the distance, somehow at that moment I knew in my heart that tomorrow would never be the same. Little did I know how true that would be. He died 2 hours later in a tractor-trailer truck accident.