Many moons ago I was in this Bible study that spoke of beauty. While this really didn’t touch my heart all that much (I’m a tomboy at heart), they asked a question during one of the sessions that has resonated with me through the years.
“When do you feel the most beautiful?”
I struggled with this question. I oscillate between “Why am I in the medical field when I should be modeling swimwear” and “When is it socially appropriate to put a bag over one’s head in public?” But realistically, I’m somewhere in between.
Even when I get all dolled up, I always manage to find flaws in myself upon reviewing the pictures. It’s the perpetual let-down of, “Oh, I look fantastic, except for the fact I look bloated and my eye-make up smudged….”
Then it hit me: I know where I feel the most beautiful.
In the ocean, with hair down, bikini on, and nearly 8 feet of plastic strapped to my right ankle. I feel even more beautiful with those big powerful waves with clean faces are headed my way – or as I like to put it – the Lord put the tokens in the wave machine.
Here there are no cameras, any make up would be washed away after taking a wave on the head. My hair is perfect because it’s covered in salt water and my skin turns a beautiful shade of pink under the sun. I was made for summer days.
After a bit more digging in my genealogical past, I found my ancestors on my mother’s side originated from what is now northern Poland, on the Baltic Sea – my father’s mother’s family is from the shores of Normandy, France – the sea is in my blood.
And that’s as beautiful as it gets.