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As part of a Blog Chain Project, this post will be on the topic of beauty, and more importantly, how it affects my life.

Beauty. Magazine covers scream its requirements from shallow pages, taunting us with the latest version of retouched perfection. The images offer a million different ways to chase the unattainable, oversimplifying the five simple steps to longer, fuller, lighter, whiter, and smoother.

Thankfully, I never belonged in that world. Disappointed with the lack of any true freckle remover as I grew up, my naked face and overweight eyebrows approached life as-is, with occasional tweaking for special occasions. If true beauty required hours of prep work, we were less than interested.

For this reason, I doubt I will ever be what the world considers “beautiful.”

Sigh.

I gladly relinquish that title, and the responsibility that goes with it.

For what I do know is that the moments I have felt the most beautiful are those where mirrors do not exist.

Sitting in silence on a beach as the sun whispers “good night,” offering one last wink and a kiss before bedtime, I feel beautiful.

Sleeping upright on the couch with my infant son asleep on my chest and running my fingers through his curly hair, I feel beautiful. To him at least.

Covered in a moving cloud of flour from head to toe while preparing a meal for those I love the most, I feel beautiful.

Taking communion while kneeling at the cross, as if Jesus and I are the only ones in the room, I feel beautiful.

Walking hand in hand with my daughters as they reveal their concerns about life in a maddening pace of words, I feel beautiful, and pray that they do the same.

Hearing my sister’s far away voice say before she hangs up the phone, “Hurry home. I’m not me without you.” I feel beautiful.

Finding a way to give a surprise gift to others, especially when they do not realize it is from me, I feel beautiful.

Splashing and dancing in the rain with my husband, I feel beautiful.

Digging deep enough to write words that make others cry, I feel beautiful.

I guess true beauty, for me, has much more to do with what boils over on the inside than what you see on the outside.

And if I had to choose between the two?

Feeling beautiful is much more rewarding than chasing down fleeting images through a distorted hall of mirrors, for mirrors never reveal what truly matters most.

Mirror, Mirror, on the wall?

Stay right where you are. My search for beauty leads elsewhere.

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