One Day, She Will Know

"So what's happened?" I asked, leaning towards her. "You've lost your motivation for music. What's going on?"

"I don't knowww," she groaned, throwing her head back, and I caught her glancing at the clock as she did. "I mean, I do like it sometimes. If I like the song. And if it doesn't take a lot of practice."

"You used to love practicing. Are you playing your clarinet much?" I prodded.

"Ehh," she evaded.

"How about your ukulele?" 

"Ohhh. I learned that one song. A while back."

"Do you still enjoy singing?" I continued.

"I just don't know!" she answered, with all the dramatic exasperation of a fourteen-year-old.

"Is it because of all these boys you've been talking to lately?" I asked directly.

Because She Didn't Know

Her answer was so honest and simple,
but brought deep sadness to my heart.

One of my seventh grade students sat in front of me and,
as my students often do,
filled me in on the recent events of her life.

"I'm going to see an orthodontist next week," 
she relayed suddenly in the middle of her lesson.
  
"You are?" I asked. "What for? Are you getting braces?"

"I don't know, maybe," she answered quietly.
With exposed insecurity,
she dropped her head
and added softly with a shrug,
"I might get them. I don't know if my teeth look bad or not." 
I noted the self-conscious brush of her hand to her face,
in an effort to hide her perfectly normal, adorable mouth.

"The Absolute Truth of Beauty"

Check out the encouraging work
Transformed Magazine is doing
and my article in their February issue:

http://transformedmagazine.com/people/the-absolute-truth-of-beauty/

Unseen

So many people in this generation willingly extend grace and compassion to others, no matter what they have done. Sometimes I wonder if we extend that same grace and compassion to others, no matter what they look like? "Unseen" is written from the view-point of a middle school girl. Think back to your own adolescent years as you read it.


Deliberately, you look at me
and don't like what you see.
You analyze and criticize
and judge how I should be.

You patronize my shape, my size,
I'm not the look you idolize.
You guess aloud my shy cup size,
Your words turn crude, obscene.

I hide in clothes too loose, too large,
I grip my books across my heart.
You rate my every body part;
I pray to be unseen.

I pray to be unseen,
I ask God why he made me.
You point, you leer, berate, demean,
I pray to be unseen.

I see the girls who gain your smiles,
with grown-up figures and trendy styles,
tight-fitting shirts and legs for miles,
and know that will never be me.

I pretend I'm made of brick and stone,
that your words are heard by you alone.
though I feel worth nothing and on my own,
and wish I wasn't me.

I'll escape into my room tonight,
slam the door, lock myself inside,
stare at a full-length mirror and cry,
and pray to be unseen.

I pray to be unseen.
I ask God why he made me.
I'll never be pretty and loved, like I dream
so I pray to be unseen.

I pray to be unseen.
I ask God why he made me.
Someone please tell me I matter indeed,
or I pray to be unseen.

Innocent Beauty

After almost ten years of working with children one-on-one, I have learned so many more of their characteristics than I knew when I began---such as little boys' eagerness to impress me or the traits of carefree students versus perfectionist students. My most cherished realization emanated from young girls who are still in that delightful stage of innocence...

Getting Good At Being Myself

I arrived home really tired  an afternoon of visiting family. As I sat down to fold laundry, I flipped on the TV, where the last part of a pageant was on. I always think wistfully about the winners' great opportunities for scholarships, world travel, raising awareness for good causes, and inspiring so many people. But I suddenly realized, as beautiful as those lovely contestants are, I don’t wish I looked like them anymore. I don’t compare myself to them or feel inferior or misshapen or ugly and short. I don't care that I don't have their perfect smiles or glowing tans. Looking like them used to equal ‘looking perfect’ in my mind, and I've noticed myself losing interest in that pressure to achieve a mythical, perfect look.

The Girl In The Pictures

Browsing through some saved photos on my computer, I specifically noticed a few from the past couple of summers that had particular memories attached. The memories were not about the actual day or event the photo had captured, however. My memories were about my instinctive reaction when first seeing myself in certain photographs---instantly thinking negatively towards myself, nit-picking perceived "flaws," and seeing all kinds of things “wrong” with the girl in the pictures. More than just the common reaction of seeing unflattering photos, I had actually felt down on myself after viewing my image on camera.

It's All Real, Baby!

The spring rainy season. Day after day of water-filled clouds and week after week of inches of rain. Attempts to blow-dry then flat-iron my dark wavy hair became a waste of time. I hopped out of the shower one day and sighed at the thought of blow-drying my thick waves, pinning my hair up in sections, taking a piece down from each section, violently mashing it between two metal plates at least 100 degrees, continuing all around my head, spritzing on heat protector, then repeating the process for those frizzy locks which refused to cooperate.

Like a lot of women, who usually want whatever type of hair they don’t have—or like most humans in general, who think the grass is greener on the other side—I envied sleek, straight, smooth hair. Over the years, I convinced myself that hair was good hair and absorbed all the advertisements promoting perfectly flat, polished hair. I added my own exaggerated persuasions to the argument:“My face is round, and my cheeks are full….straight, sleek hair will make my face look more sculpted and refined, more sophisticated. Besides, my natural hair can just look too free and wild.”