I’m waiting in line to relieve my bladder before boarding begins.
I’m traveling sans kids and it’s weird. I have moments to ponder instead of wrestle copious amounts of snacks and diapers and keep little humans satisfied.
But I sit, err, stand in line watching two older women over themselves.
First concealer, powder, shadow, lean too close, mascara, 2, 3, 4 times, pucker, apply, blot, look closely, inspect themselves.
Fix whatever flaws they see, check again.
Completely transformed they’re ready for the world now.
Or at least a flight to Minneapolis at six am.
And I do a small internal cringe and ponder.
Do men lean in too close, pinch their cheeks, get them rosy, examine their faces for flaws to hide before coming to the world?
And why do we call these things, perceived flaws, imperfections. Normalities would be a better term- since imperfect is the only normal.
And is my unbrushed, unwashed hair approachable (like I tell myself) or out of control? And is my clean face full of flaws to be hidden, uncontrollable as well…
I guess that fits, uncontrollable and me…
I pray my bug sees her beauty, her perfections and normalities. She doesn’t need to paint her face to wake up, that she boldly faces the world straight up, straight on.
I pray she doesn’t lean in too close to change who she is, to feel MORE beautiful. Because my word is she breathtaking.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for tutu’s and glitter, and girly things like make-up. I don’t wear it often, but I am all for it.
But I pray as women, as women raising daughters, we are comfortable enough in who we are, who God designed us to be, to face the world bare faced and free sometimes. And to know the beauty in that.
And to love our crazy unbrushed uncontrollable hair.