So I saw this girl, woman rather, at the airport. I was on my way from Atlanta to Philadelphia with my husband. We were traveling to see my family for the holidays. Wanting to arrive early, we had a few hours to kill at the airport. And you know how if you're at the airport for a while, you see the same people from your flight? You see them when you check in. First, you think maybe it's just a coincidence. And you notice that they're nice looking. Whatever. Then you see them in the security line, but a different one though--just far enough away from your line to make you think nothing of it really. Then you see them on the escalator, and then at your gate. Well, that's how it was with this woman. She was beautiful. Tall, a little thick, long hair, perfectly curled, caramel skin. She was beautiful. And I was jealous. It was like looking at her made me self concious about all the things that I couldn't be for my husband that I knew he was attracted to.
She was stylish: brown riding boots, brown leggings of a slightly different hue, a green turtle neck and a matching brown vest/jacket. Hair perfectly curled. Nails painted. Makeup flawless.
Just looking at her, I had to hate her. From my spot across the corridor in my powder blue sweatsuit, white sneakers, makeupless face, and chipped clear nail polish, I was jealous. Definitely jealous.
I don't know why she stuck out so much in my mind. Or why I even obsessed so much over it. I couldn't stop looking at her. It's like someone was holding up a mirror and saying "see, see; this is what you're not."
But of course, that's not where the story ends. Because it would be pointless to stop just with that. And the next part of this story may even seem a little cliche. But what? I just stop feeling sorry for myself because I don't look the way I want to look? Yeah right. Life's too short for that crap.
However, I will resist the temptation of going off on a long tirade about how fine I am, and how I look good and how God made me perfect just the way I am. I think to go there is missing the point too. I think the real lesson in the mystery girl, is to accept things as they are and to be OK with them being that way. She was pretty; gorgeous even. And that's all there was too it.
Even if I were to tell myself that I'm beautiful, and talented, and smart, and that my husband loves me, and that if he wanted to marry her, he wouldn't be with me, and all of those wonderful things, that wouldn't make that mystery woman any less beautiful. The secret, I think, and not one that women master well, is to be comfortable with who we are, AND still be able to acknowledge when others just have us beat.
That day at the airport, the mystery woman had me beat. Hands down, no doubt about it. But I guess I have the opportunity for growth to be able to say "and that's all right with me."
I know this may sound a little defeatist, but I think it really gets down to being able to acknowldge someone else's beauty, greatness, intelligence, brilliance, without thinking that we're taking something away from ourselves. This takes confidence and doesn't come easily. But this task is, I think, essential to a well-rounded life.
Ephesians 2:10; James 4:6
