At eight years old, her lanky body was a little too big for my lap, but she curled into me just like she used to when she was a toddler. And with her hazel eyes blinking away tears, she told me what she didn’t like about herself.
“I’m too short. I wish I had blond hair instead of red. My teeth look funny. I don’t like my glasses…” she whispered.
That night we were participating in a mother/daughter event designed to reinforce the idea that we’re all fearfully and wonderfully made, but it was obvious her list was written in her head long before. And with each flaw that she pointed out about herself, my heart broke. I prayed that God would give me the words to combat her insecurity as my own tears flowed.
To read the rest, visit Common Graces, where I'm guest posting today.
