Can you help me? I can’t look at myself in the mirror.

The other day I received an email from a young woman who couldn’t bare to look at her reflection in the mirror, window, shadow or any body of water. My heart ached as I proceeded to read her eloquently composed words.

Our culture today is polluted with a cesspool of lies fueling young woman’s minds and hearts into believing that happiness rests in looking a certain way or reaching an “ideal weight.”

Our culture is plagued with false truths about beauty and self-image because often times women don’t know what their true and lasting identity lies in. Confused, women turn to the media for reassurance and guidance. And what does the media tell them? It tells them that in order to be considered “beautiful” they need to look like the latest ninety-five pound manufactured celebrity on the cover of People Magazine. So, because of society, countless women strive after false beauty, perishable fame and attempt to quench their thirst for happiness with fleeting pleasures. But Truth tells women that lasting beauty stems from virtue and character, which is found within.

In regards to looking at yourself in the mirror – that was so hard for me as well. And I completely understand how you feel. I wanted to suggest that each morning when you look at yourself in the mirror, instead of being hard on yourself and seeing all of your imperfections to say the following – Father in Heaven, please show me the dignity I possess as Your daughter. I’m beautiful because I’m your daughter, created in Your image and likeness, show me the beauty You see. Show me how precious I am in Your eyes, for I long to see it. 

Even if you don’t “feel” like saying this, do it anyway. I prayed that prayer for over two years when I was struggling, and continue to say it daily.

I thought you all would like the following poem, it’s my favorite: The Touch of the Master’s Hand

‘Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
“What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?”
“A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?”

“Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three…” But no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: “What am I bid for the old violin?”
And he held it up with the bow.
“A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
And going and gone,” said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?” Swift came the reply:
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.

A “mess of pottage,” a glass of wine,
A game — and he travels on.
He is “going” once, and “going” twice,
He’s “going” and almost “gone.”
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.

Let the Master (God the Father) change you too!

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