A new perspective

January is over, and we are here for it.

Think back over the social media posts you've read over the last few days. How many have said something like "January is the longest month!" or "Thank God January is behind us!"?

Isn't it interesting that we approach January 1 saying "Hurray for new beginnings!" but by the time February rolls around, we're sick of the new year? Some research indicates that 80% of new year's resolutions are broken by the second week in February.

It seems that our new year's resolutions, however well-intentioned they may be, aren't serving us very well. Why is that?

It's not because we don't have the right tools. With dozens of apps on our smartphones to keep us on track, we're able to keep up with all kinds of details.

It's not because we fail to write down our goals. In fact, even with the use of smartphone apps, the sale of paper planners and journals has skyrocketed in recent years.

So why are we failing to keep our resolutions? I think it's because so many of them start from a bad premise. It's because so many of our resolutions are based on comparison.

Think about it. How often does your new year's thinking run along these lines?

She looks so pretty! I need to lose 20 pounds so I can look like her.

Their house is amazing! We need to complete six projects to make ours look better.

He's in such great shape! I'm going to start going to the gym every day so I can get in shape, too.

Their life is so organized! We're finally going to declutter so we can be that organized.

There's no denying it: when we begin with comparison, we end up dissatisfied and disgruntled.

There's a better way, I promise—and it all depends on where you start.

Instead of beginning with an eye toward how you stack up against others, start from a place of assurance. No matter what elements of your life you'd like to change, you are deeply loved and genuinely liked by God. You may not believe that you are loved and valued, I know. But disbelief doesn't alter the facts.

We compare ourselves with others because we're seeking assurance. We're unsure of ourselves, and we see that others seem to have what we want.

But comparison doesn't bring the assurance we crave. Comparison usually leads to one of two outcomes: either we feel less-than, which can lead to jealousy or envy, or else we feel greater-than, which can lead to arrogance and disdain. Those are all soul-crushing outcomes.

So we need another source of assurance, and we can find that in the God who loves us with an unshakable love.

If you want to lose 20 pounds or start exercising, that's great. That will be good for your health. No doubt it will make you feel better and will give you more energy. But you don't need to lose 20 pounds in order to be lovable and valuable—you already are.

If you want to get more organized and declutter your house, good for you! I'm trying to do this myself. But we don't need to get organized in order to be loved—we are loved already.

Let assurance, not comparison, shape your approach to this still-new year. Let the "new year, new you" pressure roll off your back. The old you is dearly, deeply, eternally loved.

Want to know more about escaping the trap of comparison? 

Read Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison. 

Click here to learn more!

Joining these parties:
Inspire Me Monday
 Inspire Me Tuesday
Thoughtful Thursday
Heart Encouragement

The real me (and a birthday giveaway)

55 has always seemed like an important number to me. Perhaps it's because, when I was growing up, the highways were filled with 55 mph speed limit signs. Anyone else remember those years when the speed limit on interstate highways was 55 mph? Anyone else remember truckers with their CB radios who traveled in convoys, disregarding the speed limit laws? Anyone else love the country song "Convoy" by C.W. McCall? Or is that just me?

Anyway, 55 has always loomed large in my imagination, but I never really gave much thought to being 55 years old.

Until now. And here I am.

My husband snapped this photo of me so that I'd have a picture of myself right when I turned 55.

This past year has been a big one for me. When I turned 54, I was hoping that perhaps a book proposal I'd submitted might find favor with a publisher. Before the end of last year, I was offered a contract with InterVarsity Press, and I turned in the manuscript for Mythical Me: Escaping the Trap of Comparison on August 1 (read more about the book here).

I suppose this topic is very much on my mind because I've spent so much time the last few months reading and writing about comparison, but for whatever reason, here's where I want to get real with you. As we post photos of ourselves on social media, isn't it tempting to make ourselves look just a little better? Don't we sometimes wish we could wave a magic wand and erase the years? Well, here's the same photo as the one above with just three minutes' worth of work on my computer's pre-installed photo software. (In other words, anyone could have made these edits.)

Here, look at the two pictures side by side:

See how the second photo lacks a few wrinkles and imperfections? No line between my eyes, no lines on my forehead, no lines on my neck. . . just a few simple little touches enacted with a click of the mouse.

And you'd never know the difference unless I told you, right? After all, the two photos are mostly the same. It's not like I made any big changes.

If we all make just a few little changes to our photos. . . if we do some innocent doctoring so that the subtle signs of aging are erased. . . and we don't mention to anyone that the photos are edited, no harm is done, right? It's not really dishonest, is it? It's just a little of the kind of "pampering" we all deserve, right?

Certainly it's not wrong to wish that we could erase a few of the signs of aging or other physical imperfections. Don't we all wish we could look our best at all times? Of course we do. And if you know of any good creams or lotions or exercises or supplements that can help me to look my best, I'd love to hear about them.

But I'm convinced that if we make those "innocent" little edits and we don't tell people that the photos are edited, we are in fact doing some harm. First, we're buying into and propagating the myth that imperfections are shameful. Second, we're most certainly harming ourselves by assuming that we're not acceptable and lovable just as we are. And third, while we're not responsible for the actions of others, we are adding fuel to the fires of comparison when we make ourselves look different from the way we actually look.

Jesus reminded his followers that the greatest commandment was to love God with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength, then exhorted them to a second great commandment: to love their neighbors as themselves (see Matthew 22:35-40, Mark 12:28-31). The more I think about it, the more firmly I believe that we don't love ourselves or our neighbors very well when we edit our photos to remove the imperfections in our appearance. I think we can do better than that.

So even though I might be sorely tempted to "improve" my photos just a little by erasing a few of the signs of aging, I promise not to do that. I am proud to be 55 years old today. I've been married 33 years, and I've reared three wonderful sons to adulthood. I hope that I'm aging gracefully, but of course my face has some lines and wrinkles! I've earned those wrinkles. They represent the joys and heartaches that go into a life filled with love.

And I think that this big birthday calls for a celebration! So I'm going to give away $55 to one of you in whatever form you like--cash, gift card, or whatever you like. No hoops to jump through--just subscribe to my blog or follow me on Instagram or Facebook (whatever works for you) and leave a comment below to enter. I'll choose a winner randomly on September 12. I'll be tickled to share my big 55 celebration with one of you!

There's no accounting for taste

Want to hear something shocking? I can hardly believe that I'm going to say this publicly, but here goes:

My house has no white walls.

There. I've said it. Not a single wall in my house is painted white. You'll find some subdued colors, like Benjamin Moore Fieldstone in my living room:

And you'll find some very bold colors, such as the custom blue of my dining room walls.

But aside from the half wall below the dining room chair rail, nary a white wall will you find.

Now, even more shocking:

I'm not planning to paint any of my walls white.

You know what that makes me? A little out of step with the decorating times.

White walls are all the rage right now. Surely I need to be painting something?! It's not that I think white walls are ugly; I don't. I admire them in many houses. But I decorate my home according to my own taste, and white walls don't quite fit.

Should I set aside what I prefer and go for what is popular? After all, I write about trying to make my home a place of grace and beauty. Is there something wrong with me? Will the Style Police come to arrest me?

The answer is no.

Have you ever heard the comment "There's no accounting for taste"? I've heard people say that many times, usually while rolling their eyes. For years I assumed that this comment was an insult, because that's the only way I'd ever heard it used. People would look at something they found to be ugly or unappealing and say, "There's no accounting for taste," in the same tone of voice as saying "Ewww. Get that out of my sight."

But now I know that "no accounting for taste" is a statement of fact, and it's actually a very freeing concept.

You see, there are many things in life for which there is very strict accounting. There is accounting for how much money is in your bank account. For the amount you must pay in taxes. For how many pills you get in a prescription and how often you can get it refilled. For how many calories you are able to take in and how many you must expend to lose or gain weight. There's accounting for so much.

But there's no accounting for taste, because taste is not something that is prescribed by an authority or set by laws of nature. Taste is an individual thing, and we're all different.

Now, it is true that many of us agree that certain styles are pleasing or lovely. There are principles of art (color, proportion, symmetry, etc.) that are almost universally appealing. There are some design principles describing things that tend to look good to most of us. And it's certainly true that some tastes are more popular than others. But it's not true that certain kinds of taste are right and others are wrong.

So I'd like to make a proposal: let's stop comparing ourselves with one another and enjoy our own styles. Your taste is your taste, and mine is mine--and there's no accounting for taste! There are no rules. There is no Style Police. Each of us gets to decide what we believe to be beautiful--and then we can enjoy sharing it.

Life is good if we all bless and encourage one another. Vive la différence!

Knowing love

It's Valentine's Day weekend! Oh, boy, a day to celebrate love. What could be nicer?

I'll tell you what could be nicer than celebrating love: actually feeling love. Knowing, down in the very core of your being, that you are loved. That's what could be nicer.

There's a catch to that. To feel loved, you need to feel lovable. You need to know that you--the real you, the person in your body who lives and breathes and moves and does life, you--are loveable. If you're like me, that's not so easy.

I'm a lucky woman. I've been married to my college sweetheart for over 30 years now. I have three wonderful children. But for most of my life, I've struggled with difficulty in feeling loved, in being secure in love.

I've written a few times about my struggle to accept myself just as I am. I was born with an extremely rare disease called Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome. It's so rare, in fact, that my parents could never find out exactly what was wrong with me. Only after I was an adult and had two children of my own did I learn the name of my disorder. All I knew was that I was deformed.

I had the largest birthmark in the world, or so it seemed to me. My right foot, leg, hip, and trunk were covered in a massive port-wine stain. And to make it worse, that same part of my body was also enlarged and misshapen. My right thigh was 2 1/2 inches larger in circumference than my left thigh.

 a photo I took of my lower leg

Oh, how I hated going swimming. Not because I didn't like to swim, but because I had wear a swimsuit. When I wore long pants, no one could see my birthmark. But in shorts or a swimsuit, I felt like a freak.

People can be cruel, even if they don't mean to be. I particularly remember one summer day when I was about 30 years old. I was at the store, pushing my little ones in a cart, when a woman stopped me, pointed to my birthmark, and shrieked, "What is wrong with your leg?" You could have heard her voice two aisles over. Outwardly I kept my cool and politely answered her question. Inwardly I shrank into a tiny ball, humiliated.

Years went by, and I never realized just how much I had internalized my insecurity about my appearance. After all, I had a husband and three children; life was good. I was able to have my birthmark treated with laser therapy, which lessened its intensity a bit, and I felt fairly comfortable in my own skin.

And then I went through a difficult period in my life, a time when everything seemed to crash around me. Desperate, I sought help from a therapist. Patiently, kindly, she peeled back layer after layer of insecurity, finally landing on the fact that I just couldn't quite believe that anyone--not God, not my husband, not my family or friends--could really love me. Not really. Not when I was so imperfect. I knew that I loved them; I was certain of that. But that they loved me? No. I hoped they did, but I could never quite believe it.

I had to learn that, even though I thought of myself as deformed and ultimately unlovable, that wasn't the truth about me. The truth of the matter was that the only person who didn't love me was me. And in that state of not loving myself, I was unable to fully enjoy the love of others. I didn't trust anyone's love for me, because I simply didn't believe it could be true.

But it is true.

Here's what I've learned, what I am still learning: I am lovable. Not because I'm perfect, because I know I'm not. All it takes is a quick look in the mirror to remind me of my physical imperfection, and a quick look into my heart to remind me of my spiritual imperfection. Nevertheless, I can know that I am lovable because I am loved.

God loves me. He's loved me since I was in my mother's womb, already deformed but not yet exposed to the world. He's never held my shortcomings against me, never withheld his love because of my imperfection.

"We love because He first loved us," the Bible tells us (I John 4:19). Do you see? Not "we love because we're so full of goodness," or "we love because we're so overwhelmed with emotion," but "we love because He first loved us." While I doubted others' love for me, I was certain that I loved them. But I missed the fact that my ability to love came directly from God's love for me.

I always believed in God. I trusted Jesus for my salvation. But I didn't fully believe His words; I didn't quite trust what He said about loving me. I felt unlovable, and I transferred my insecurity into disbelief. Still, He persisted. He kept loving me, kept blessing me, kept wanting me to understand that He, the Lord of all Creation, the King of Kings, declares me--me! the deformed one!--lovable. He sees every bit of me, every piece that I try to hide--and He finds me loveable.

So I celebrate this Valentine's Day with joy because of this precious bit of knowledge: I really am loved. As I grow in this knowledge, I can let go of my insecurities, drop away my self-protection, stop berating myself. It's a hard lesson; it's taking me such a long time to learn. But disbelief never yet altered any facts, and the fact is that I am loved.

And I'm here to tell you that you are loved, too. You are. Do you know?

Joining:

Coffee for Your Heart

Ordinary, everyday miracle

I've written before about one of my life's struggles--dealing with a rare disease that imprinted me with the largest birthmark I've ever seen.  As I've dealt with my own issues, I've learned that lots of people share my struggles.  Although they may not be marked in the same way I am, difficulties with self-image and acceptance affect many of us.

Here's a photo of part of my birthmark.  This is my lower leg, the part that everyone can see if I'm wearing a skirt or shorts.



My birthmark is actually much larger than this; it extends all the way to my upper back and across my torso.

A few days ago, though, I got a jolt.  My birthmark is just one symptom of a rare disease called Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome.  I'd been advised to see a specialist just to make sure all was well, and I was fortunate to get an appointment with the Vascular Abnormalities Clinic at Duke Medical Center.  Doesn't that sound like fun?

I can't tell you what a relief it was to see physicians who knew all about KTS.  Usually I have to explain my disease to health care professionals; it's so rare that very few people have ever heard of it. But these specialists have treated a number of patients with the disease, and they knew what to look for.  They ordered an ultrasound and an MRI of the veins in my leg.



Of course, I'd noticed that I'm starting to develop some problem veins, such as these spider veins:

What I didn't know was that this area of my birthmark was highly abnormal for someone my age.  Of particular interest was this part of my lower leg.  Looks pretty bad, doesn't it?

My doctors told me that this looks really good for someone with my condition.  They were amazed to learn that I successfully carried three babies to term and gave birth with no complications. They told me that they'd never seen a case of KTS in a person my age with so little damage in the lower extremity.  Apparently they expected that I'd have severe varicose veins and a good deal of skin damage from blood pooling in my lower leg.  While I've struggled with how bad my leg looks, they were puzzled as to why it looks so good, relatively speaking.

The MRI solved the mystery.  As it turns out, my leg is missing a vein.  My doctor called and said, "There's a lateral draining vein that should be present in your leg, and it simply isn't there."  There's no way to tell why I'm missing this vein, but a problem with this vein is what would be responsible for the damage that the doctors were expecting to see.  For reasons unknown, this vein simply never developed in my body.  It's just not there.

"We're not sure why it's not there, but you're one lucky lady," my doctor said to me.  "Whatever the reason, thank God it's not there."  

I think that's the first time I've ever had a medical specialist say "thank God" about my disease.

To be honest, I'm just floored by this news.  This birthmark, which has been so difficult for me to live with, is actually evidence of a little miracle.

And this has me wondering: how many "little" miracles happen in my life every day?  How much of what I take for granted is evidence of God's love and provision?  How many hidden healings are part of my life?  Or of yours?  We're so quick to question God when we see suffering and pain.  I pray that we would be just as quick to praise Him when we see mercy and help.

Dear God, give me eyes to see and ears to hear of Your goodness.

Have you ever seen an ordinary, everyday miracle?

Sharing this at
Thought-Provoking Thursday at 3-D Lessons for Life
Weekend Bloggy Reading at Serenity Now

Fashion help for a real woman, age 50

I had a wonderful birthday last week!  Here's my 50-year-old self:



One special part of my day was  gift I gave myself.  I enrolled in Stitch Fix.  Stitch Fix is a personal styling service, which is

a. something I can really use, and
b. not something I ever dreamed I'd be able to have.

"Personal styling service" sounds like something reserved for the rich and famous, doesn't it?

But Stitch Fix is for very ordinary people, even (or especially) if they happen to be 50 years old.

Enrolling in Stitch Fix is both simple and challenging.  Simple because they do a good job of making the process so simple.  Challenging because they ask you to think about what you really like--but they don't require that you do it all by yourself.  They help you articulate your style preferences with very direct questions and with pictures of clothing and accessories you might or might not like.   Honestly, just the process of enrolling was interesting and helpful (and completely free)!

Then for the fun.  For a $20 styling fee which can be applied to your purchase, you can have a "fix" delivered to your doorstep.  You don't ever get charged a styling fee unless you actually schedule a delivery.  You get to choose when and how often you want a delivery--you can become a subscriber and get regular deliveries or you can choose to get a delivery only specified date or dates.  There's no pressure to choose anything other than what works for you.  I asked that my first fix be delivered on my birthday, and it arrived promptly on September 5.  Yes!

So why does it cost $20?  Because a real, live stylist uses the information you provide and selects five items specifically for you along with notes about how to wear them.  Then a real, live person packages those five items beautifully and ships them to your door, along with a postage-paid envelope for you to send back anything you don't want.  I'm amazed that they do all this for $20.

Here's what my package looked like.  It was such a pleasure to open!



What fun I had trying on the goodies inside!  Jack loved this striped tank, which I paired with skinny jeans.  See the long tail?  So comfortable!  I wore this for a casual dinner party on Saturday night.



I liked this emerald green top, but it was a bit too loose for comfort, so I sent it back.  The stylist thought it would be good with my green eyes, though, and I think she was right about that.



I liked this black top, although I didn't feel that it did much for me.  I paired it with houndstooth slim pants when I tried it on.



This dress I loved.  It's cool and comfortable but features fallish colors.  Great for September days in North Carolina.  I wore this for a luncheon on Friday and then again to church on Sunday morning.  The second time I wore it I switched to a chunky silver necklace and higher wedge sandals.  Got lots of compliments both times.



And here's what I thought was the best part of the Stitch Fix experience.  Each piece of clothing came with a tag like these:



The tags include suggestions of what to wear with each piece of Stitch Fix clothing--things that you might very well already have in your closet.  This is exactly the kind of help I need.

I'll admit that there's one part about which I was a little skeptical.  I knew the clothes they sent me would be cute, and I figured they would be nice quality.  But what about the price?  Frankly, I was afraid that the pieces would be much more than I'd be willing to pay.  I was pleasantly surprised here!

I kept two of the items from my Stitch Fix box--the sleeveless striped top and the dress.  Those two items cost $86.00 and the $20.00 styling fee was applied to my purchase.  So I got two pieces of clothing I really like for $66.00.  I've already worn both pieces twice, and I've gotten lots of compliments on both!

Here's another other cool thing.  If I had chosen to keep all five pieces, I would have received a 25% discount off everything in the box.  So I could have kept all five pieces for a total of $157.00.  I'm sure the prices of items vary greatly from box to box, of course.  But my fears that the prices would be sky-high were unfounded.   In fact, my style profile allowed me to state how much I prefer to spend on various pieces of clothing.

So can a real woman, age 50, be stylish?  With a little help from Stitch Fix, I think the answer is yes!  What do you think?

Full disclosure here.  This is not a sponsored post.  I'm just a satisfied customer glad for the chance to share my experience.  If you're interested in Stitch Fix and sign up with my referral code, I'll get a merchandise credit, which would be wonderful.  But I'd recommend that you try the service even if I didn't get anything for it--it's lots of fun!

For the first time ever, I'm joining What I Wore Wednesday at The Pleated Poppy.

A shared story

One of the loveliest traditions of our church is weekly communion, particularly because our practice is to have members serve communion to one another.  We all line up and proceed to the front of our worship space, where our fellow members offer the elements, murmuring "Christ's body broken for you" and "Christ's blood shed for you."  It's a beautiful time.

This week I was talking with our Associate Pastor about last Sunday's service.  He told me that he'd asked a lady to serve communion who at first demurred, "Oh, I don't think I could." Puzzled, he asked why.  Her answer: "Because I have a prosthetic hand."

Turns out that her prosthesis was not an impediment at all.  This beautiful lady held the cup steady as worshippers took communion.

But she was surprised that the pastor didn't know about her prosthetic hand before Sunday.  He told me that she'd said, "I just assume. . . "

And before he told me, I could finish her sentence.  I knew what she said.

She said, "I just assume it's the first thing people notice about me."

Of course.

I know that feeling all too well.  That's exactly the way I feel about my birthmark.

Oh, how I wish this were not so.  I'd certainly never noticed the lovely woman at church had a prosthetic hand.  The pastor had never noticed.  Almost nobody had noticed.  Yet she assumed we'd all seen it.  She was certain it's the first thing we saw.  But it's not.

She is not defined by her prosthesis.  I'm not defined by my birthmark.  And despite our self-consciousness, those attributes are not the first thing that people notice.  It's not that people don't notice us; it's just that they're too busy looking into our eyes, listening to our laughs, hearing our voices to see the imperfections that seem so glaring to us.

The truth is, some people know us well and never notice.

Now, I say "the truth is," but I'm still learning that it's the truth.  Last May I wrote a post about dealing with both the ugly and the pretty about myself.  Imagine my surprise when a woman I'd known years ago contacted me about that post.  I knew her well.  She was my junior counselor at camp, which meant that we worked together and played together and slept in the same room together.  We did everything side by side during that time at summer camp.   There's no telling how many times we changed into our swimsuits right there in that room.  Yet when she wrote to me, she told me that she just couldn't remember that I had a birthmark.

Honestly, I still have trouble believing that.  But I know she's a truth-telling woman, so I'm trying to believe it.

Turns out that a lot of us have trouble believing the truth about ourselves.  This week I saw the video called "Real Beauty Sketches" produced by Dove as part of its Real Beauty campaign.  I wept as I watched it.  If you haven't seen it, I urge you to watch it.



And please tell me: is this part of your story, too?

My new photo and why it's important

A few days ago I confessed that I have real trouble with posing for a photo and asked for your help.  Boy, was I grateful for your response!  A number of you offered suggestions that I'd never heard before.  Now I'm actually looking forward to the next time I get my picture taken.

I also asked y'all to tell me which of the acceptable photos you liked best.  There was one clear winner of that poll.  And then, much to my delight, my friend Amanda Padgett of Everyday Elements offered to edit that photo for me.  This woman knows her stuff, and she loves to teach people how to use their cameras well and how to edit their photos.  Check out her website here.

So here's my new photo:

So why is this photo so important?  Because this is a big year for me.  Drum roll, please.

This year--2013--I will be 50 years old.

Half a century.

The other day a young friend told me that 50 is the new 40.  I don't know about that, but I do know that I want to live this year with everything I've got.  I've spent too much time in the past 50 years concerning myself with what I didn't have or what other people have.  This year I want to learn in a new way to be confident that God loves me and that I have a special place in His great universe.

What about you?  Is there something special about this year for you?  I'd love to hear about it!

Photo shoot me--please help!

Or, on second thought, just shoot me.

Jack asked if he could take some photos of me the other day.  I just got my hair cut and was wearing a new sweater, so I figured it would be fun.  After all, if a guy's been married to you for almost 28 years and still wants to take your picture, why not?  And I have an eBook that will be released in a few weeks, so it seemed like a perfect time for a photo shoot.

The problem is that I'm not very photogenic, so here's what happened:



Or this.



Over and over.  It was like a whole photo shoot of outtakes.

He did get a few shots that were okay.  I like my hair in this photo:



I think this photo is better of my face, but I must have brushed my hair back with my fingers or something.

I have a new respect for both models and photographers!

Please help me here.  Does anyone have any secrets to photogeneticity?  Can anyone tell me how to keep your eyes open when you're being photographed?  How to look at the camera?  How to smile so that you look like so that you look sincere but not cheesy? Any thoughts on these photos?  I'd really appreciate your help!

Dealing with the ugly and the pretty

Earlier this week I wrote about beauty, including my best skincare tip.  I shared a photo that my husband had made into an art print.  I love that photo, because it's mostly about the part of me that's pretty--my red hair.  

There's another part of me that's not at all pretty.  In fact, it's ugly.  I've written about this a little before, but mostly I try not to think about it too much.  A couple of weeks ago I was reminded of it rather starkly.  Every spring, when the weather turns warm and I start wearing dresses or shorts, it happens.  This time it happened at church.  A very kind man rushed up to me and asked, "Were you hurt?"  

He asked that question because of my birthmark.

I snapped this photo with my phone.  I was standing in a department store and caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror.  The photo shows just part of my birthmark, of course.  Believe me, you don't want to see all of it.  It covers most of the right side of my body.  Here's a better photo of part of it: 

There's no way to sugar-coat it.  My birthmark is ugly.  It can't be removed, even with sophisticated lasers (I've tried).  It can't be covered with make-up (I've tried).  It can be hidden, of course, if I never allow my legs to show.  I've tried that, too, but that's not really the way I want to live my life.  So the only real option is to deal with the ugly.

Over the years many people have said to me, "Oh, you should realize that your birthmark is beautiful, because this is just how God planned for you to be."  I don't believe this is true. My birthmark is part of a rare disease called Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome, and disease was not part of God's plan for us when he created everything.  Disease entered the world after Adam and Eve chose to sin against God. What is true is that God is in charge of everything, and He did allow disease to enter the world.  But there's quite a big difference between God's causing something to happen and His allowing something to happen.  

God did allow me to have Klippel-Trenaunay Syndrome, and with it this birthmark. And one thing I know for sure about God is that if He allows something to happen, He wants to redeem it.  He can bring healing and beauty into the most difficult of circumstances.  

Many people toss around the sentiment, "God must be teaching you something."  Well, that's true in some ways, although perhaps not always in the way that people mean.  I've learned a lot from having this birthmark--some of it good, some of it bad.  It's taken a long time to sort the truth from the lies. But I'll tell you the most important thing that God has taught me because of my birthmark:

God loves me.  The whole package of me, God loves.

When I look at myself, I like the view that includes my pretty red hair.  I don't like the view that includes my ugly red birthmark.  It's hard to deal with something ugly. But the ugly birthmark is part of me.  It's an important part of my story, and my story is good.  My story is one of redemption.  My story tells that God is good and faithful and patient and loving.  With John I can say,

"This is the message we have heard from Him and declare to you,

that God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all (I John 1:5).

God loves all of me, the pretty and the ugly.  Just as He loves all of you. I now know this so surely that I wrote a book about my journey. Click here to read more about Mythical Me: Finding Freedom from Constant Comparison or complete this form to receive the first chapter and hit the "subscribe" button to receive the first chapter. (Don't worry—I'll never spam you!)

Email Address

First Name

Do you have a story that includes both the pretty and the ugly?  I'd love to hear it!

A health tip and a beauty question

Earlier this week I shared my very best skincare tip, and I showed you a special photo of me from back when I was 45 years old.  I stand by my advice to make peace with your fair skin instead of spending time in the sun.  But my health-conscious friend Anne recently clued me in to an important health fact:  many women are deficient in Vitamin D.

Sunlight is an important source of Vitamin D.  If you're protecting your skin from exposure to the sun, you may not be getting enough Vitamin D.  Your physician can perform a simple test to determine whether you're deficient and whether you might need a Vitamin D supplement.

Do be careful.  Vitamin D is a fat-soluble vitamin, and taking too much isn't good for your body.  If you do an internet search regarding vitamin supplementation, you may find all kinds of contradictory advice.  I'd suggest that you avoid huge doses of any vitamin.  But vitamin and mineral supplements can be very helpful, and many women do need more vitamin D than they're getting.  I thought this article about vitamin D supplementation was helpful; perhaps it will help you, too.

Now I want to share a couple of photos that my husband took of me this past weekend.  These aren't very glamorous--they were taken on our front porch.  But I want to show you how much more white there is in my hair than there was just a few years ago.

My red hair has a good many blonde highlights, but most of the light pieces you see here are white. 

The photo below really shows off the white hairs--and demonstrates why Jack usually takes my picture when I'm wearing sunglasses.  I can never seem to keep my eyes open in photographs!  It also shows that I have gum in my mouth.  Sheesh.

As you can see, my skin hasn't aged much in the past three years, but my hair certainly has!  And I've never colored my hair before, so I'm kind of scared about it.  I'd like to ask you:  Do you color your hair?  If so, do you do it yourself or have it done by a professional?  Have any recommendations for a novice?

**By the way, if you're looking for good beauty tips (for both inner and outer beauty) you should check out my friend Cyndi's blog, Walking in Grace and Beauty.**  

My best skincare tip--and a love story

I'm often asked if my hair color is natural.  The answer is yes.  I'm a redhead through and through--red hair, green eyes, fair skin.  Luckily, my husband thinks red hair is beautiful.  He likes to take photos of me, like this one:

This was taken after a week at the beach, mind you.  Notice how my white top shows off my savage tan.  Ahem.

The truth is, my skin WILL tan if I let it.  But my very best skincare tip, which comes straight from the heart of an aging redhead, is this:

Make peace with light-colored skin.

Now, if we're truthful, most of us will admit that we think that everyone looks better if they have a bit of tan.  Pale skin reminds us of sickness; tanned skin makes us think of youth and vitality.  But there's something you should know:  unless you are naturally dark-complexioned, the skin that looks so pretty and bronzed today is not going to look good when you're my age.  

I'm 48 years old.  The photo above was taken when I was 45.  Obviously my skin isn't perfect; there are some crow's feet hiding behind those sunglasses, I have some freckling on my face, and I have lots of moles.  But I've watched as my sun-loving peers--the ones whose tans I used to envy--have developed skin that's really spotted. What was smooth, beautifully tanned, healthy-looking skin when we were in our teens, 20's, and early 30's is now, in our late 40's, covered in age spots.  The delicate skin of the neckline and decolletage areas are particularly susceptible areas, it seems. 

Believe me, I understand that you may prefer the look of tanned skin.  But that tanned look on fair-skinned people is actually sun damage, and it'll come back to haunt you.  I know that the risk of skin cancer often can seem awfully remote, and meanwhile, we all want our skin to have a healthy-looking glow.  Trust me on this, though: if you spend a lot of time in the sun or in a tanning bed, you can end up with unsightly spotting and wrinkling--not when you're 80, but when you're in your 40's!  If you really, really want the look of tanned skin, find a sunless tanner you like and use it.  Meanwhile, use your sunscreen and be grateful for your smooth skin.

Now for the love story part of this post.  The story has to do with that photo of me above.  My husband Jack took that picture at the beach in the summertime.  At Christmastime that year, he told me that he wanted something particular for his Christmas gift from me and that he would like to order his own present.  That was a  highly unusual request for Jack, but he promised me that what he wanted was a good thing, so I agreed to the plan.  I wondered what he could be wanting--a big flat-screen TV?  something special for his car?  I had no clue.  He ordered the mysterious item online, but wouldn't give me any hints about it.  A couple of weeks later, a huge box appeared on our front porch.  By this time my curiosity was really piqued.  When Jack opened the package, I let out a little scream.  Want to see what it was?

It's that photo that he took, turned into a Lichtenstein-style piece of art.  He ordered it from allpopart.com.

This photo will give you an idea of its size--it measures 3 1/2 x 4 1/2 feet!

It hangs in our bathroom, on the wall to the right of Jack's vanity, where my image can inspire him (or haunt him!) every day.

Isn't that the sweetest thing?  God bless that man.  This year we'll celebrate our 27th anniversary, and he still likes to take pictures of me.  My hair now has a number of white hairs mixed in with the red,  but I still don't have age spots.  I'm really glad I learned to live at peace with my fair skin. 

Note:  There are lots of good sunscreens and sunless tanners available for reasonable prices.  For protecting my face, neck, and chest on an everyday basis, I particularly like Olay Complete moisturizer with sunscreen--it's a great moisturizer and the sunscreen is effective.  I have no affiliation with Olay, but I love their product--I'm living proof that it works!  I also wear big UV-blocking sunglasses (as you can see in the photo).  When I go to the beach, in addition to sunscreen, I lounge under an umbrella, wear a big hat, and wear a UV-blocking shirt when I'm playing in the water.  I also keep the sunroof in my car closed during the day--it's a "moonroof" for me.

So what about you?  Are you fair-skinned or a bronzed beauty?  Have any favorite products you'd recommend?  Please share!

I'm joining Beth at Home Stories A to Z for Tutorials and Tips.  

A portrait of grace

Once upon a time there lived a girl who suffered from a rare disorder which had caused her to be born with a birthmark covering most of the right side of her body. The girl was very self-conscious, for her birthmark was very unsightly. Other children laughed and pointed. Adults shook their heads sadly and whispered to one another about it. But aside from her birthmark, the girl was pretty normal, and she had the same hopes and dreams as other girls.

When the girl grew up, she met a boy. The boy was sweet and kind and didn't seem even to notice the girl's birthmark. The boy fell in love with the girl and asked her to marry him, which she gladly did. They had a sweet marriage and they had three boys of their own, none of whom inherited her rare disorder. The years drew on, and they were happy.

But the boy, a family man now, could tell that the girl, a grown woman now, was still bothered by her birthmark. He could tell that she didn't see herself the way he saw her. So he decided to do something about it. At great trouble and significant expense, he arranged for her to have a professional portrait made of herself. He knew the portrait would be lovely, and he wanted his wife to be able to see that lovely image and to know that this was the way he saw her.

That's a true story. I know that story because I am the girl. When my husband and I had been married 15 years, he arranged for me to have a portrait made. He wanted me to be able to see myself as he sees me--not as a woman marred by an unsightly birthmark, but as the one he loves.

My story is probably not the same as yours. You probably don't have a rare disorder that caused a birthmark covering much of your body. But I'm willing to bet that you feel marked in some way.

Perhaps you are underweight, or maybe you are overweight. Perhaps you have too much hair, or maybe your hair is falling out. Perchance you are extremely short, or it may be that you are remarkably tall. Maybe you are very shy and feel that you never know what to say, or perhaps you're very outspoken and often feel that you talk too much. Chances are good that you possess some characteristic that seems to be the most noticeable thing about you.

But I have good news for you. That flaw that feels so obvious, that characteristic which causes you such distress, that issue that feels completely insurmountable (I know how it feels, believe me!)--no matter what it is--it doesn't define you. You may find this hard to believe, but the way you see yourself is not necessarily the way others see you.

And above all, that's not the picture of you that God carries in his heart.

You're not perfect, are you? But you don't have to be. God sees you as His beloved child. He thinks of you in the same way that a proud papa thinks of his newborn--not as a red, wrinkly, funny-looking little creature, but as the most beautiful baby ever to be born. He looks at you through eyes of love and grace, and He is so proud of you.

Sometimes, when I'm not feeling very pretty, I look at my portrait. I remind myself that the portrait is a more faithful picture of how my husband sees me than the image I see in the mirror. Perhaps you need that kind of portrait of yourself. Here's a word picture for you to pull out and remember on those days:

"The king is enthralled by your beauty. Honor him, for he is your Lord" (Psalm 45:10).

It's hard to believe, isn't it? God knows that. But He wants you to believe. Listen to these words from Ephesians 3:

"I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power. . . to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God."

See? The prayer is that you have power--not power to do great things or accomplish wonderful works--but power to understand the love of Christ. A love that surpasses knowledge--including your knowledge of your flaws. A love that sees you through the lens of grace.

It's a beautiful picture.

**Joining Emily at Chatting at the Sky for a celebration of Grace**

The sweetest gift

Last week I posted pictures of my master bedroom. After reading that post, one of my readers asked about this photo:

"Is that you?" she asked. Yes, it's me. That portrait has hung in my house for 10 years now. It's just part of the scenery. I tend to take it for granted. But I shouldn't. That portrait tells a love story.

You see, I've always struggled with self-esteem, particularly regarding my appearance. When I was a child, I lived in a family of beautiful ducks, and I was an ugly duckling. But my self-esteem issues went much deeper than you'd expect for a girl who was an awkward adolescent. I've had some help figuring out the root of my struggles, and I've learned that they're mostly rooted in the fact that I have a birthmark that covers most of the right side of my body. It's a multi-faceted issue, and in the past few years I've made a lot of progress in dealing with it.

But 10 years ago I was right in the thick of it. Although my husband didn't understand all the issues involved in my struggle, he knew I was struggling. And he wanted to help.

"I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you," he would say. He thought I was pretty, but I couldn't see myself that way. I could only see myself as the girl with the birthmark.

Finally he came up with a plan. For our 15th wedding anniversary, he bought me a lovely gift. But more importantly, he asked me to give him a gift. "I want a portrait of you," he said. "I want you to find a real photographer and have a portrait made of yourself. Not of you and the boys, not of our house, not of anything but you. I want a full-length portrait of you."

Is that the sweetest thing you've ever heard? And he was serious.

I resisted for awhile, but he persisted. He pushed. He prodded. He helped. He enlisted the help of a friend. And in the end, I got to be Queen for a Day--a day of having my hair styled, putting on an evening gown, going to the photographer's studio and out on location, and having my portrait made. I learned that a good photographer takes lots of photos and that some of those end up being good--good enough that even I had to admit that they were pretty. Even though the woman in the portrait has a birthmark, that's not what shows. In all those photos, there's not one glimpse of my birthmark. And that's the way my husband sees me.

I always see my birthmark, and I assume that's what other people see, too. I assume the worst. In his loving way, my husband wanted me to know that my vision was skewed.

Did it work? Did I learn to look at myself the way my husband sees me? Well, not completely. I've continued to struggle with this issue, and I'm still wrestling with it. But it helped. And that gesture was one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for me.

What a treat for me to be reminded--a gift gratefully unwrapped this Tuesday with Emily.