In Crossville, Alabama, there was one schooI. Everybody from kindergarten through 12th grade went there. It was a small town, obviously, with small town traditions. I was seven years old when I represented my first-grade class in our school's annual beauty pageant. Mama made me a red velveteen dress with a white lace bodice and she took me to the beauty shop for a hairdo - a real treat. She tied a red velvet ribbon in my hair and I wore my white Easter gloves, black patent Mary Janes and white lace-edged Sunday socks that slid down in my shoes when I walked. Mama said my shoes were eating my socks when that happened. Four queens were crowned on a Friday night in November and I was named 1967 Harvest Festival Queen - Lower Elementary. I still have the trophy to prove it. Still have the dress, too, matter of fact - stored in one of those space bags with the air sucked out of it using the vacuum cleaner. The crown had to be turned back in to the school office on Monday morning after the pageant. They only bought a crown every two years - to save money, I guess - and I won in an off-year. Even-year queens got to keep the crowns. I was pretty disappointed but Mama said I had to give it back. Mama-Beatrice (emphasis on the "at") was in no way a pageant mom... Mama-June would have throwed a fit if they had done that to Honey Boo Boo. You know I'm right.
For y'all doing the math out there, yes, that was over 50 years ago. And yes, I still remember some really unimportant details about it. Along with some pretty important ones, too. I remember that as one of the first times in my life when I truly felt beautiful. The attention that I gained from the title - especially from my Daddy (another story) - was exciting. And I also remember that I though it must have been a mistake because I had to turn in the crown that Monday morning. How quickly it came and went. Maybe I should be thankful that I learned at a very early age that beauty is a fleeting thing. And while I have never stopped wanting (and trying) to be beautiful, there has been a deep realization in me that it's not all it's cracked up to be - that beauty is not to be trusted.
Herein lies the truth. We aren't supposed to trust beauty. It's a minefield out there... bombarded from every angle with somebody else's idea of what it's supposed to look like. With perfection. And imperfections? They multiply in the mirror. Wrinkles like spider webs, pores like craters. Nose too big, eyes too small, lips too thin. Hair too gray (another story). Freckles, a mole. Any one of them enough to make us dash to the nearest Ulta for some spackle and paint and set to work on the great cover-up. There's even a specialized line of products called concealer. Hallelujah! There are ginormous industries out there just to help us mitigate what we see in the mirror. But, it can be expensive - in more ways than one. In the words of Dolly Parton, "It costs a lot of money to look this cheap." Fun (kinda scary) fact: the average American woman may spend over $200,000 on makeup in her lifetime. That's a house. Not to mention the surgeries... not even going there. Not advocating a boycott of products or anything, just a call to attention. Some words of perspective, perhaps.
To the point, maybe we need a better definition of what it means to be beautiful... and who gets to write that definition. Psalm 45 is a wedding song. It's a royal marriage between a king and his bride. She is adorned with gold of Ophir. This is the finest of the fine... the same kind of gold from King David's personal treasury gifted to Solomon for use in the temple. She must have been stunning. But then, in verses 10-11, she receives these instructions: "Listen, daughter, and pay careful attention: Forget your people and your father’s house. Let the king be enthralled by your beauty; honor him, for he is your lord." Don't look to your community to define your beauty. Don't look to your Daddy to define your beauty. Look to your King. Your King is enthralled (captured, fascinated, spellbound, enchanted, filled with wonder and delight.) With you. Honor him. He is your world - he is your audience - he is the definer of your beauty. O, Daughter. Be careful. Listen. You are beautiful in His eyes. And His eyes are the only ones that truly matter. Selah.
If beauty is not important, why spend so many words on it? I'm pretty well at peace with what I've got - throw a little lipstick and eyeliner at it and get on about my business. Most of my friends are at this place, too. But there are the girls who call us Mom, or Gran, or Nana, or Grammy... These girls need our words of affirmation... and caution. They need to see us light up - radiant - when we speak of our King. They need to know that imperfections are not ugly. Not always something to cover up. They need to know that imperfections are interesting. And beautiful. Beauty marks.
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