I was born with a rare bone disease called osteogenesis imperfecta (OI). The disease comes in several different forms and severities. At its worst, those who have it can hardly put a sock on without breaking their ankle. My form of OI is mild. I had about 13 fractures by the time I was 11. Thanks to a few years of physical therapy, you probably wouldn’t look at me now and know I have a disability. Back then it was different. Junior high was when my breaks stopped and when I started walking.

A Walk to Remember
I can remember everything about the day I really felt like I was staring in at the rest of the world. I was using a walker, and despite the balance it helped me attain, I was still a bit wobbly. Walking is harder than you think! As I reached the door of my classroom I heard a girl say, “She walks like a duck.”

As soon as I heard the words, every part of me wanted to burst into tears. The two girls watching me started laughing, which only made it hurt worse. I couldn’t think of anything for the rest of the day. Suddenly, I hated my body. I hated the scars on my legs and the slight twist at my knee from years of breaking. I wasn’t focused on the good anymore — that I was walking, that someday my walk would probably be close to normal, that a few little setbacks could never match the freedom I felt. All I could think was that I looked like a freak and no one would love me unless I was perfect. I obsessed over more than just my body; I started thinking of everything I could change about my face. I wanted to cover my freckles. I tried using lip liner to make my lips bigger or my eyes a little smaller. I never smiled because of the tiny space between my teeth. I hated pictures. I was convinced I was totally ugly and spent hours in front of my mirror in tears wishing I could be anybody but me.

Pretty Girls
I’d love to say that this story’s happy ending is that I’m a total knockout with a major high confidence. Neither of those is entirely accurate. Actually, I look pretty normal. I’m 5 feet tall with reddish-brown hair and usually have a cute haircut. My weight is normal. I like to play with makeup and have always been into fashion, but the way I dress certainly isn’t magazine worthy. Like every other girl I’ve ever known, getting past the awkwardness of junior high helped me find my own unique way to be pretty. Most days, I’m OK with myself.

I had to learn a long time ago my body would never be “perfect.” We live in a world obsessed with look-a-like plastic appeal. The real us — the quirks that make us beautiful in the first place — just don’t measure up with the photos we breeze through in magazines or the actresses we watch every night. We go to crazy lengths to lose or gain weight and to add or take away height. One makeup artist says her favorite features to play up on young women are freckles, strong noses and big lips. Instead of loving those quirks, we try to cover or change them.

I’m learning an interesting concept, though. In reality, anyone can be pretty. Before and after photos aren’t hard to achieve. On the other hand, I’m convinced that there are only a few truly beautiful women in the world. I want to be one of those. Sure they care about their appearance, but they’re more concerned with living an amazing life. They naturally make people feel at ease. They have the kind of personality that draws people in, that isn’t rude. They can be confident without being cocky. They’re cool with doing their own thing — whether it’s marching in the band, collecting rocks from cool places, going to concerts, working on their three- pointers or treating every customer on the other side of the counter like he or she is important. They know how to dress and that modesty and chic can indeed go hand in hand. They’re not obsessed with their jean size.

They’re all about denying themselves and serving other people, whether they’re playing with kids in a tribe along the Amazon River or going out of their way at church to talk to someone new. They dig into God’s Word. They don’t just tote their Bible around for fun; they use it. They memorize it. They go to it for answers.

Ultimately, beautiful girls know how loved they are by God and that gives them the kind of joy and security that shows. Beautiful girls rise above the fake, plastic kind of pretty our world is obsessed with, and they choose something far more wonderful and mysterious: a heart like Jesus’.

Girl Talk
If we could go get a café mocha together, I’d tell you this: You aren’t pretty. You’re beautiful. I love to get letters from Brio readers, and some of the most mind-boggling ones come from girls who aren’t happy with how they look. They usually send a picture, and without fail, they’re gorgeous. You don’t have to do anything, buy anything or change anything to achieve it. You’re there! We just need to start believing that what God says about us is completely true.

I’ve learned that if I spend so much time obsessing over what’s in the mirror, I miss out on the amazing adventure God has for me. If I get too obsessed with myself, I fail to see what He’s doing around me. I wonder how it breaks His heart when we stare in the mirror and call His creation worthless. On the other hand, when I’m spending time with Him every day, I’m thankful for the body He’s given me. I’m actually proud of the scars I have because they remind me of a special journey He and I took together.

It should be enough to know that He dreamed us up in His mind; that He looks at us with total love and adoration; that He loves our laugh, the hump in our nose and the way we love on hurting people. He loved us so much He died in our place — an act too beautiful for words.

Forget the fake plastic smiles and obsession with your jean size. Let’s pursue something more. In the moments you feel alone, He’s holding you close. The face you look at and want to change is a face that fills Him with joy and pride. Pretty girls come and go; beautiful girls leave a legacy. God calls us beautiful. Let’s believe what He says.

(By the way, I would never dream of covering my freckles now. I think they’re way too cute.)