Portrait

I stared at the girl in the portrait. She took my breath away. She was lovely, in her little girl way. Her eyes were dark and clear, full of life and intelligence. You could almost read her mind. This was a little girl who knew what she wanted, and would go the distance to make it happen. Her lips were full and red, without the aid of any gloss, or lipstick. There was a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her hair was brushed just so, and falling down all around her shoulders. It was a spectacular portrait, at least in my opinion. 

The photographer had captured her perfectly, in all her girlhood charm. 

I stared at the child in the portrait and was overcome with love for that little girl. She looks to be about seven years old. She is just beginning to know about Jesus. She  already knowns some darkness in her young life. She is already well acquainted with domestic violence. She knows the pain of divorce. She lives in a world of frustration, and sometimes takes it out on her sisters. She has that glint in her eye, that says she sometimes doesn't play fair. She has been known to be mean. 

There is no shame in her young eyes. Nobody has told her yet that she is too stupid to play the violin, or that her legs are too hairy, or that she is weird. She doesn't know yet, that her hair is too frizzy, and that she can't do math, although she may have a suspicion, by now,  that numbers are not her friend. 

She likes her dolls and riding her yellow bike, though, and loves to read. By the time this picture is taken, she has already won an award for reading more books than anyone in her class. She has also received an award for good citizenship. And that's what this little girl really, deeply, always wants to be is good. Even when she is bad.

I know, because she is me, and my mother was the photographer. I look at her and wish I could give her a hug. I wonder how I could have ever thought she was ugly or stupid. She isn't either. She is beautiful and smart. 

I wish I could talk to her, tell her not to fall for the traps life has set for her. Not to believe everything she is told. Or everything she reads. I would cry with her, as the world chips away at the good in her, and leaves her feeling empty. I wish I could cheer her on, as she finds her True North and allows herself to be drawn into her Father's great love for her. For it is that one thing that will make the ultimate difference for her. She won't always make the right decisions. She will stumble and fall. She will make a fool out of herself and spend a lot of time feeling ashamed. She will sabotage herself, many times over. 

But because she will allow herself to be loved by God, and learn to love Him in return, she has a soft place to land when things get hard. 

I love that little girl. I hated her for so many years because she wasn't good enough. Now I ask myself, good enough for what? For who? So her hair wasn't perfect. She wasn't a model. She wasn't graceful or a genius. She was, and is, simply herself. Without apologies. And that is powerful. And by the grace of God, that is good.