Beauty.

I am not a model.

I have never been a model, nor will I probably ever be a model.

I don’t have a closet filled to the brim with name brands. It’s namely filled with things from Target and savers.

I don’t have hair that’s the perfect texture and length, and it takes a lot of heat to get it to fall in somewhat normal layers around my face.

I most certainly am not blessed with perfect skin - day after day it is a struggle to keep the red lumps from appearing on it. And most times, one, two sometimes even ten red angries bubble up to the surface, unaffected by the treatments.

My voice cracks when I sing sometimes because I simply cannot hit the notes that Idina Menzel hits.

My piano skills are simple and it’s taken me a year to complete a six-page song that for some would take a single day.

My body isn’t slim and trim without effort - it requires persistence, dedication, and accountability on my part to achieve a body that I am content with.

And I’m not gonna lie...I look at people and see their model build, their closet whose inhabitants are drenched in logos of the stores that I would love to shop at. I see hair that falls perfectly as soon as the person wakes up, I see skin that is without blemish and I hear voices that can hit notes that seem to be untouchable for my range. I see bodies of people who eat junk food all day that are slimmer and more trim than my own - worked out and all.

I see their exterior and think to myself, “I wish…”

Fill in the blank.

Now, this isn’t me fishing for compliments...TRUST ME IT’S NOT. This is just me saying that I look at people and see their outward beauty and go, “Man. That’d be nice to have.”

I’ve been thinking lately about how much I dwell on the exterior appearance of those around me and my own meager outside shell.

I don’t normally look at someone and say, “Man. Look at how kind she is to people.”

I don’t normally look at someone and say to myself, “Wow! Look at the way she serves so selflessly.”

I normally look at people and say, “Wow. Her gene pool really treated her well. Look at her hair and the way her skin seems to be flawless!”

I look at people and say, “Holy mackerel. She’s practically perfect.”

Well, here’s the thing. I’m realizing how superficial number one, my own thoughts towards people are and number two, how superficial outer beauty is, how fleeting an exterior appearance truly is.

And I’ve been countering these thoughts about superficiality with thoughts of the everlasting God, and the image He has given me of a woman with true, real, deep, beauty.

I’ve been dwelling on what true beauty is for a good solid few months, and countering my superficial facts of what beauty is by what the Lord has given me about true beauty. And here is what I have come up with.

True beauty doesn’t rely on name brands.

True beauty doesn’t rely on model stature.
True beauty doesn’t rely on being able to roll out of bed with perfect hair.

True beauty doesn’t rely on the ability to reach seemingly untouchable notes.

True beauty doesn’t rely on perfect skin.

True beauty doesn’t rely on piano skills.

True beauty doesn’t rely on good grades, being photogenic, being able to dance well, having perfect pitch, possessing the ability to accompany the melody of a song you love by just hearing the track once - you name the exterior characteristic or talent of someone you find as being “perfect” externally.

That is not true beauty.

True beauty does not rely on that.

And in realizing these things, I’m also realizing that if I were stripped of every part of my external appearance that I find to be “redeeming” I wouldn’t feel beautiful.

I ask myself why? And I get this:

Because I feel that those around me only think I’m beautiful because of my outward appearance.

And here’s the shocker: If those that you consider important are only your friends because you are a pretty face, they’re not important. Now, this doesn’t mean you shouldn’t love them -  the King loves them as much as He loves you and we as christians are called to love our neighbors.

What this does mean is that they are around you for the wrong reasons.

Your friend circle should love you whatever state you’re in because it’s not the outward appearance that matters but the inward that outweighs all.

There is an abundance of scripture that’s being holds what true beauty is.

All that beauty truly is can be found in the details of the word.

Rather than the list of what True Beauty isn’t, this is a list of what True Beauty is.

True Beauty is fearing the Lord in all that you do. 
Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised. - Proverbs 31:30
True beauty is a quiet spirit and a gentle nature.

But let your adorning be the hidden person of the heart with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and
quiet spirit, which in God’s sight is very precious. - 1 Peter 3:4
True Beauty is understanding that your future is in the Lords hands, and savoring life without fear because He is and therefore you have abundant hope.
Strength and dignity are her clothing, and she laughs without fear of the time to come. 
Proverbs 31:25
True Beauty is wisdom. 
She opens her mouth with wisdom, and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue.

                Proverbs 31:26
True Beauty is found within your heart.

But the LORD said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the LORD sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart.” - 1 Samuel 16:7
True Beauty is the Lords living work within your soul. 
And because of Jesus?

"You are altogether beautiful, my darling, And there is no blemish in you.”  - Song of Solomon 4:7

Tea

If I liked tea, I would probably drink it.

Seems logical right?

I would probably look forward to the morning’s flavoured hot water that would fill the room with a flowery aroma as steam wisp’d and curled like an italian street vendor’s curly-q mustache. I’d probably pull out my notebook and sit on my couch, legs in the criss cross indian style way, tea in my left hand, pen in my right, and I’d probably write. I’d write about my life. I’d write about things I love. I’d write about my tea and pen. I’d write about sunshine and blue skies.

On a good day, that is.

A week later I probably would still look forward to my cup of hot water and pen. And the day would probably dawn bright and sunny, but my head would boom and pound as pain ricocheted off it’s walls. I’d sit up and bang my head, much to my brain’s dismay and the pounding and booming would only be encouraged to make itself more well known in my life. I would stumble out of bed and stub my toe on the corner of my furniture and then both ends of my body would pound and boom in synchronization. I’d probably have one more of my favorite tea bags. A sigh of relief would be heard and I’d brew my cup of tea out of the keurig because I wanted it fast. But in doing so forget to check if there was a coffee pod in there. It would turn out that there was a coffee pod, and of course I’d already put the tea bag in the mug and so there goes my favorite tea to coffee flavored hot water. I’d frown and moan and dump out the tea and go to brew another popping in my second favorite bag AFTER I’d brewed it. I’d put what I thought was sugar in the tea and it would turn out to be salt so I’d have to dump that one as well. I’d brew yet another tea, put yet another tea bag in, and dump SUGAR into the steaming substance. Finally, I’d make it to the couch, wrap up in a cozy blanket, pull out my journal, and think “Now my day will begin going right.”. I’d begin scrawling out something about how horrible my morning was going but how good my tea was and then I’d misspell horrible and go back and try to erase the extra b I’d somehow added. In doing so, my mind would be preoccupied and forget that in my left hand I held a steaming substance that was awful delicious and it’d pour out. All over my journal, my pj’s, and of course me. And you’d probably think, “This day could not get any worse.”

-

I spilled tea once.

I know what you’re thinking, “Wait, she said she didn’t drink tea…?”

Well, I don’t.

Nor do I plan on drinking tea.

It’s metaphorical tea I speak of.

I spilled it all over my metaphorical journal (i.e. my life) and it ruined everything.

One word led to another word, one action led to another action, one mistake led to another mistake. Snowball effect, a bad habit, whatever you want to call it.

Much like the bad day, one thing led to another and before I knew it all I could think was, “What have I gotten myself into?” Now, don’t let your imaginations run wild. It was nothing monumentally bad, it was a series of bad choices that led to me being grounded for approximately 4-6 months. As I left the homeschooling community to join a private school due to the bad choices, I became aware of those spilled tea stains and try as I might to scrub it out, there’s always a hint of it.

It wasn’t until the private school year was over and I was back at homeschooling that I realized this special truth: Jesus Christ is my stain remover.

Not oxi-clean. Not dreft, a Tide-to-go, a shout wipe. Nope. I mean like a deep clean stain remover, one that doesn’t actually physically exist. A stain remover that once put into your clothes would remove stains  - not the kind they advertise. This isn’t really talked about as much as it should be, it isn’t proclaimed on every channel, and when talked about it most certainly isn’t the kind of thing that shouts, “BUY ME!”.

He works very much like a stain remover.

He gets the stains out, but if you stain it again you’re back to square one. Until you ask for the spot remover again.

-

Every day I sin.

Every day I lapse into temptation.

Every day this world gets the best of me and I fall onto my knees and cry out, “Forgive me!”

And every day?

He cleanses me once more.

He cleanses me no matter how many times I get stained because that’s just who He is.

He guides.

Mountaintops are hard to get to.

Every year my family and I travel to Acadia National Park on Mount Desert Island in Maine. If you’ve ever been to this part of New England than you know that everywhere you look there’s a different mountain that provides a different view of the Island, the Atlantic, and the towns below.

I’m not gonna lie, it takes a lot of effort on my part to reach the summit of the mountains.

Sometimes complaining takes place as calves scream, “HOW DID YOU EVEN THINK YOU COULD DO THIS?” Your feet sweat similarly to your head as the sun beats down onto your scalp. Water is chugged. Sustenance is devoured. Mantras are spoken (You know the typical - “You’re almost there!” “Just a little bit farther!” “This is good exercise!” “The view is gonna be great!”). Until finally there is a break in the forest lines, and you take your Rocky Balboa stance on the top of the stone next to those little cairns. Your mom pats you on the back and smiles saying, “I knew you could make it!” And your Dad asks you to pose for a picture with the scenery in your rear. And you think, “What was I ever worried about? An hour passed by in the blink of an eye!”

Picture walking up these stony hills in which your feet are liable to trip, in which roots stick up ready to cause you to fall, in which sunshine beats down, calves hurt, and mantras must be spoken.

Add a blindfold to cover your eyes, and place a strong hand in yours leading you to the mountain top. As soon as you get out of the car and say “I’m ready for the adventure.” This blindfold slips over your eyes and however comforted you feel, you’re a bit nervous about where it will lead you. You are increasingly at ease as you feel the strong muscles of the hand wrapped around your weak one.

As you begin, you hear this being telling you that the view will be great, but, prepare yourself, it’s gonna take a while to get there. It’s a hike and a hard one at that.

You hear the words, “I've got the water. I've got the sustenance.”

As you begin to walk, you realize that this is no ordinary hike.

You stumble up the first few rocks, your feet slipping, but the hand never leaves yours.

Comforted, you continue and realize that the ground has leveled out.

At peace, you continue to tread, a smile spreading across your face.

This carries on for a few minutes until you fall.

You feel the blood beginning to trickle down your calves that have started to burn, and you feel the hand letting go.

Heart dropping, you realize that this hand is making itself distant.

But just before you go to remove the blindfold you hear the deep comforting tones of the voice that you've grown to love saying, “Follow my voice. Trust that I will not lead you somewhere that will cause peril. I have promised and I will fulfill. Trust in my voice. Follow me.”

So you crawl because your calves and your heels hurt from scuffing the rocky earth.

The voice continues calling, “Follow me. It will get better in time and the blessing of a view is waiting at the end.”

You continue to stumble, your fingers grasping the stones but you've already realized that the pain is only temporary.

Almost to your end, you finally feel hands slipping boots onto your naked toes - “I was waiting for you to learn this lesson, my sweetheart. Wait on me. Whether I feel distant or so near that you’re touching me.”

The hand hoists you up onto strong shoulders, and softly says, “You’re tired. I will carry you, my darling.”

This carries on.

Removed from shoulders and placed on steady ground.

The soft earth becomes rocky and filled with roots that cause bloodied ankles and you’re back on the ground, crawling.

Over and over this is repeated, but it’s always a different tripping device used.

Every time you crawl through a different terrain, following the voice in the distance, the voice equips you with another piece of protection - Knee pads, a helmet after that time you continued to hit your head, band-aids for the injuries, bug spray for the gnats that bite at your flesh, sustenance after the hunger, water after the thirst.

He takes you to what feels like the end of strength and then when you feel as if you have nothing left He gives you steady ground and whatever it is that you absolutely need in the quantity that is absolutely necessary.

And when the hand and the voice are seemingly quite distant, you hear the feet of the being of the hand treading on the gravel, and you follow, slowly but surely.

Meekly but ever so steadily.

For hours and hours.

Days upon days.

Tripping device upon tripping device.

Rocky ledge upon rocky ledge.

Following this strong hand will get you to the mountain top.

There are various peaks on the way there in which your blindfold is removed and you overlook a serene valley. And He reminds you that due to his strength and wisdom, “You've made it to the first outlook!...But we must continue for there is a much better view waiting.”

-

My Lord is the hand and the voice and the feet that have guided me through bloodied knees and scuffed calves.

He’s guided me through cliff walks and wide paths.

He’s taken me through darkness and light.

He’s removed my blindfold at the peaks.

The views at these peaks are so worth the pain - “constant through the trial and the change, this one thing, this one thing remains...His love NEVER fails." 

His hand never ceases to guide.

Trust in his voice, in his hand, in the sounds of his feet.
Don’t lose hope.

-

There have been so many times when I so wanted to turn my back on Him.

And yet, he always shows himself in perfect timing that waiting for him in the midst of hardship will always be worth it.

May my life, by the Grace of God, resemble that of someone who faithfully depends on the LORD God, my Father, through the peaks and troughs of this life.

James  1:12 

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him.

Words for Dinner.

Today I feasted on the only words that sooth my sometimes weary, often anxious soul.
And I was filled to the absolute brim.
"...my cup overflows." Psalm 23:5

2 Corinthians 4:17 

1 Corinthians 2:9

And my weary soul rested as it was cleansed by this song and these words(among others!)

He is so good for all that I am is sustained by all that He is. 

The author who loves the reader.

I don’t know about you, but, I’ve always wanted to have a book dedicated to me.

That big nearly blank first page to say something along the lines of

For Brittany; I love you to the moon and back.

From the one I love, written just for me.

It is a dream of mine to know that the one who is my everything spent 400 or so pages with me in mind.

Close to impossible(it has been done, so it’s not fully there.) but nevertheless a wonderful thought, right?

Let me blow your mind: there’s a book that’s been dedicated just for you.

There’s a book that’s been written by the one who loves you in a deep, great, sacrificing kind’ve way.

The author loves you the way your heart wants to be loved and He treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated.

Even in the moments when in the heat of anger you scream “I hate you!”

Even in the moments when you simply say “You’re not worth this pain.”

In the moments where it’s the hardest to love you He loves you the most.

Can I tell you something? Can I go on a really quick tangent about the love of this Author?

I absolutely hate it when people say, “Everyone hates me.”

Because in that moment, there is someone who has always always always loved you.

There is someone who knew your being before it was formed, who fell in love with you before the foundations of the earth, and who has carried you through every breath you have taken in this life.

I am no perfect person and I have said this negative comment to myself on many occasions. When circumstances revealed to me that those around me looked at me with disdain or chagrin due to actions I had taken, things that I’d said, you name it - I am NO perfect person and I should by no means be looked at as one.

Yet in the moment when I feel as though no one looks at me with affection, there is one who loves me deeper than anyone on this earth could possibly love.

Because when he looks at me letting loose retorts of hate, anger and vile words and my robe becoming increasingly blackened from wickedness, he sees pure white.

He doesn’t see the tarnished reputation from sin He sees his son’s perfection placed upon my shoulders due to the amount of His blood shed for my imperfection.

Okay, so back to the point.

The Author of this book might not straight up say To Brittany; I love you to the moon and back.

But, just imagine that it does. Because, really, he wrote it with you in mind.

This documentation of the trials of his people, descriptions of stories in which He has delivered, details of miracles and births and deaths. You name it, he has woven every part of a “good” story into an intricate account that was written it just for you.

The words were inscribed into the white that you might see who He is, and that you might believe in every aspect of him.  

So that in the moments of despair as circumstances are dreary and dull and you look and see hate and an absence of love, you would turn to the words he has written that you might have life.

This Authors name is Yahweh, Jehovah Jireh, Elohim. The book? It's the iconic book of the Bible.

And the words he wrote, he wrote for you personally. Believe this. Read them. And live.

The Girl With the Walls

I saw a girl walking down the street today.

Her eyes were ringed with charcoal

Her being was seemingly drenched in black cotton

Her feet were covered in black leather boots

And she was clearly dejected, despondent.

Under some examining I dubbed her downcast and I wondered what her story was as I watched her trudge, step after step.

I could see the walls she had surrounded herself with

Eyes ringed with charcoal

Feet covered in black leather

Being drenched in black cotton.

It made me sad, as I watched this girl fighting back fountains of tears.

The kind of tears that once cried leave you feeling wounded, hurt, and low.

Not the kind that relieve stress, overwhelming circumstances.

I could see why she wanted to keep them inside - they hurt when cried, the aftermath of their release reopened wounds that she had tried so desperately to hide.

Their release reveals weakness and leaves you feeling absolutely bare to the cruel world that we live in.

-

I wanted so desperately to tell her that she didn't need those walls to carry on.

I wanted so badly to tell her that the love of the world will always be shaky and lacks a depth and constancy.

I wanted to run up to her and help her to see the love that I had found when human love failed me.

I wanted to hand her the words I depend on every day and tell her the treasures that l had found.

But, I couldn't.

I watched the charcoal begin to run and then I saw the “strong” hand swipe the salt away in the blink of an eye so that she wouldn't leave her heart naked to the streets.

I was sad because, I knew she felt alone

even though she wasn't.

To the girl with the dark walls that hides those tears:
I know it hurts. Believe me, I do.
I have felt the urge to put walls around those wounding tears because they hurt so much.
I have been stripped down to the bare minimum because of those same tears and I have felt the world pushing me away because of them when I so desperately wanted to be held and told my worth.
I have known what it's like to feel that there is no place to turn in the darkness.
But I have also found that all my feelings are contradicted by the love of the Father.
He is my Prince of Peace. He causes me to walk beside still waters when the world trembles. He has guided me to a feast though I was stumbling through a chasm unknown to the world. He has shone light into dark situations and removed those walls I had placed around my tears. He has allowed me to find healing on his lap that stitches up those wounds for good. He has allowed me to cry out to him.
And He has shown me just how much he loves me.
I have found all I need, I have been fixed despite this broken world at the feet of the I AM.
And you can too.
Can't you see?
You're not alone, my darling.

He is with YOU.
Be not dismayed for He is YOUR God.
He will strengthen you.
He will uphold you by his righteous right hand.
He will fight for you
You need only be still.

The sea and the shore.

I could spend weeks upon weeks by the sea and never get tired of how the sea refuses to stop kissing the shore, no matter how many times it is sent away.

I like to think of the sea as a silent lover. It’s fingers reach out to the edge of the shore apparently trying to hold onto the melancholy being of the sand like a nostalgic lover unwilling to let go.

Perhaps their story is a tragedy like Romeo and Juliet. Or perhaps it had similar plotlines to the stories detailed by Jane Austen. Or maybe they’re more of the quirky childhood lovers of the play explained by Thornton Wilder

He’s not a Romeo and she’s not a Juliet.

He’s not a Mr. Darcy and she is by no means an Elizabeth Bennett.

But He’s not a George Gibbs and She’s not an Emily Webb.

I think it’s a story all of it’s own, however.

As the creases of its vastness peak and fall, I watch it’s tragedy unfold.

The mountainous peaks seem to speak and call to the shore in the soothing monotonous tones.

It’s waves embrace the sand seemingly cooing out words of affirmation.

“I love you dearest.” It roars.

“It’s been much too long…” It seems to sigh.

And then it’s sent away.

Banished from the sand.

I watched, awestruck, as it’s thunderous roar turned to silence.

I saw the vastness subdue from it’s monotonous tones to soft silence.

And this repeated.

Over and over and over again.

The most beautiful part of their story is the way the sea returned every time it was sent away.

It’s love story is the same every time I happen upon it.

I hear the sea’s call and tones and I am readily reminded of it’s unceasing love and affection for the beauty of the shore.

The Past.

You see, you go days upon days without thinking about it.

Hour upon hour and not one second is spent pondering it's happenings.

When the name or the instance is brought up you simply shrug it off, smile, and say, “I’m totally over it.”

The tears, the wounds inflicted, the pain that was felt, the darkness that was experienced, they all feel little and so far away from where you are now.

Until the past greets you.

With a nonchalant “Hey! How are you?”

Or a slight wave.

A glance at the cafe where so much went down.

A read through of old journals.

A little prod.

A little nudge.
And suddenly everything that came along with a past circumstance comes tumbling on top of you.

The bulletproof vest that you thought you had towards this particular instance suddenly is ripped from your body and you are left with a heart that’s wound is able to be seen by the naked eye.

What you thought you had placed so far into the solidity of the dirt suddenly rises up to the surface with ease and an insanely fast pace.

Surprising, right?

Wind knocked out of you kind of surprising.

Every emotion felt towards it, all the feelings that you had of it, all the memories that came along with it flood your being and a cold sense of nostalgia creeps into your bones as you are met with a reminder of the hurt of the past.

The question that burns in my head is this: “Why?”

And the answer is this:

Because I needed the pain.

I needed to experience a certain darkness so I would be able to see the light.

That darkness caused me to go running back to the person of Jesus.

It caused my weary arms to depend upon the one who is always strong.

It allowed shade to feel like sun because I found all that I needed at the feet of the I am.

That situation was not what was best for me, and all the signs in my life that had said “Say no!” just increased my desire to say yes. Disobedience and deception clouded my mind and I was no longer traveling on the path to the one to whom angels sing.

And He saw my disobedience and deception and cut me off from the place that spurred it on.

Now, I rest.

Then, I didn’t but now I do.

“Why?”

Because I felt that pain for one reason: So I would run to the person of Jesus.

As my soul struggled with that short question of unrest, the Lord reminded me that he gave

me pain so I would know his healing. I found love in him(or rather, he helped me find love in Him) just as he planned it all along.

And there was no other way I would’ve learned the depths of who he is without it.

Thank you, Lord that pain is not felt in vain.

“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” Jeremiah 29:11