When I was in high school I wasn't in the "popular crowd". A lot of my friends were, but I wasn't. Part of that had to do with the fact that my daddy was a teacher at the high school, part of it had to do with the fact that I was happy with my group of friends and the other part has to do with the fact that I just didn't care to be drunk on the weekends. But I could be wrong. In high school I was always so worried about my looks. I was "blessed" with more hair on my arms than usual. Or so I thought. I have about the average amount of hair on my arms as any other woman I've met. But in high school every little "flaw" seems huge at the time.
I was driving home from grocery shopping and was stopped at a red light. I was picking at my nails when I noticed a new freckle on my finger. I thought, "Neat". Something else to make me different. And then I got to thinking about all the scars I have gotten over the years. And how some of them used to bother me so much. I have a chicken pox scar on my chin. Used to bother the fire out of me. No one probably ever noticed it. Now, I think it's neat. It tells part of my life story.
Granted, I am 27 now and not 17 so I know life isn't all about looks. It's about what you do with the life you are given. I am so hoping that I can teach Zoey that sooner rather than later. I hope that somehow, if only a little bit, I can teach her to be content just the way she is. How I wish that I felt the way about myself now as I did when I was 17. I probably would have ate lunch a lot more or not fussed over my eyebrows in a mirror quite so much.
Each freckle, scar, hair is special. God put it there or allowed it to be there. It tells our life story. Maybe over the next 10 years I will start excepting the fact that I have wrinkles.
What? The title is progress..