Giddy

I spend my days in the land of teenage lust. I'm inundated with the sight of giddy hand-holding, stolen kisses and pregnant children.

I remember those days. I can still remember how excited I would get to find a note stuffed in my locker. I remember the smile that permeated my face when I saw "him" in the hall. And the feeling of his fingers slipping in between mine, the most tender embrace. The last hug before rushing off to class felt like the goodbye that would last for eternity.

But now I'm the disapproving teacher to be hidden from around the corner. Where has adolescent romance gone? Am I doomed by maturity to live a life of awkward dates, inconvenient courting and an emotionless marriage. To recall the Toys-R-Us song, "I don't want to grow up!"

In my current single status I lament the loss of innocence and lust. I have no one to hold hands with, no one to write notes filled x's and o's to, and no one to long for until the bell rings. Furthermore, as my biological clock is ever-ticking, I envy the growth of new life inside the swelled belly of these soon-to-be child/mothers.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am fairly pleased with life. Maturity that has come through age and life's trials has taught me about myself and what I want from a relationship. I know more now about entering into a life-long commitment. I know that when the time comes for me to bring forth life, I will be better prepared. For these things I am grateful.

For now I long and hope for the giddy, butterflies in the stomach feeling of new love. I trust that following God's plan for this will have its rewards. I hope that one of those rewards is someone who can make me feel like a giddy schoolgirl when he holds my hand and kisses me on the cheek. Maybe I'll even get a "check yes or no" note again someday.

My unique beauty

Let it be known that I don't wear make-up, paint my nails or dye my hair. I choose this, not because I don't want to be pretty, but because I want a beauty that is not purchased.
My skin is nearly flawless because of good nutrition and plenty of natural sun. I have and will develop lines and wrinkles, signifying my joy and laughter rather than pain. Why should I try to cover my joy?
Rather than being covered by expensive jewelery or unnatural colors, my hands are strong, capable and ready for whatever work may be required. My hair is lightened by the sun, curly and wild by Divine design. It contains strands who's color and texture signify the struggles I've been through and whose length signifies my ability to survive.
Maybe my naturality makes me a tom-boy, but I've never known a tom-boy to own pink and lace by choice.
I realize that all of this may not make me the epitome of beauty. As the lines of a song I used to sing for church remind me, "I may not be every woman's dream for her little girl. My face may not grace the minds of everyone in the world." (Amy Grant, Father's Eyes) The song continues and tells of a beauty found in the eyes of the Father and hopefully in mine as well.
This is me. I am the strong, capable, loving woman I was created to be. My scars, lines, sags and grey hairs make it known that I am alive.