Yes, she’s beautiful on the outside, but not as beautiful as she is on the inside. (image from

Oh…she’s gorgeous. My heart sank a little as I saw Ann Voskamp’s words, so inspiring and life-changing on the pages of her book, come to life in her small group study DVD. Her book, One Thousand Gifts, has been life changing for me. But her voice, decidedly sultry, didn’t match the one I heard in my head as I’d turned those pages late at night. Her hair, a beautiful chestnut color, sat atop her head perfectly coiffed, not a strand out of place. And I’m ashamed to admit, I grew a bit jealous.

I had a hard time really hearing her words, as the video artfully moved through images of her hand crafting scratch loaves of bread, children …

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When my oldest daughter was almost a year old, my husband brought home a unique gift for Mother’s Day. Two rose bushes. One red, and one yellow. At the time, I was flattered, but had no idea just how amazing that gift would turn out to be. While I like yellow and red roses, my favorite is a pink or peach rose. I’m not sure my husband had any idea this would happen, but the two plants, placed several feet apart in our front flower bed, have started to cross pollinate (or something like that). I know nothing about roses, except that I like to look at them and smell them. But somehow, the yellow rose bush has started to produce peach and pinkish roses, even some yellow roses with red spots. They’re gorgeous, absolutely …

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Yes, this picture is creepy. That’s the point.

Do you notice something strange about this doll? I mean, besides her missing pants. (She was a garage sale find given to Anna by her great aunt, and perfectly sized for Anna’s new doll house. We can find new pants for her someday, right?) Yes, my creative mind immediately began concocting fantastical tales about how this silver haired plastic figurine may have lost the bottom half of her wardrobe.

But my daughter pointed out something else. Something much more insightful than my 12-year-old humor, “I see London, I See France…”

When I handed her the doll, she held it in her little hand, and stared intently for at least minute.  Certain she would ask about the “wardrobe malfunction,” I prodded her with, “Honey, do you notice something strange about …

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Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest…oh who cares?

By society’s standards, I am not a stunning, beautiful woman. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think I’m hideous. I can relate to this line from one of Gretchen Wilson’s honky-tonk tunes: “I may not be a ten, but the boys say I clean up good.” Give me a shower, some makeup and a flattering dress and I’m not too shabby.

No, I’m not fishing for compliments or affirmations of my appearance. Rather, this is a celebration of my imperfections. There are things on my body that are large when they’re supposed to be small (pores, nose, feet). And there are things on my body that are small when they’re supposed to be large (use your imagination).

But you know what? I’m glad. So glad that I …

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