Looking At Myself

*These thoughts have been pressing on my mind for some time now, and I've wanted to share them, but with the right spirit and in the right way.  Hopefully this will come out the way it's meant to, and not seem cocky or narcissistic.*
Everyone has an awkward phase.  I like to think that mine lasted from about age 10 through age 21.  No exaggeration.
I was a scrawny, ridiculously tall girl with braces on her extremely crooked teeth for four years, not to mention the thick, huge, coke-bottle glasses.  Want a picture? 
Don't say I didn't warn you.

(We have a new computer with Window's 8, so I can't figure out how to turn the dang thing, but you get the idea--this picture was taken circa 1995, when I would have been about 11).
Cute, huh? 
Honestly, I still ache for that little girl when I see this picture.  I wanted so desperately to be beautiful and cool, but because my family was poor and couldn't afford those oh-so-necessary name-brand clothes (which you all know are key to being cool), I just felt like I never measured up.
The taunts from prepubescent boys (whom I now realize were even more self-conscious than I was) didn't help, either.  I remember going home from school, crying because the boys had called me "Dog Face" and barked at me--pretty much all through sixth grade.
And things only got worse during Junior High.  My blindingly white legs were a source of ridicule in track and field, my gawky, uncoordinated, awkward movements made me a joke in any sort of organized sport, and my hand-me-down pants were never quite long enough to cover my ever-stretching legs.  These facts all served to alienate my friends (who were also desperately self-conscious) and make me feel even worse about myself.
Luckily, as with all phases, my Junior-High phase ended.  I finally stopped growing during my Sophomore year (didn't pass 6 feet, but came pretty close at 5' 11"), and although I still never felt beautiful, I got jobs cleaning houses and could now afford to buy clothes that at least fit and flattered me (Savers and DI became my best friends around this point).  I moved out of my previous social circles and gained new, lasting friendships.  Although I never dated (except for girl-ask-guy dances), I had guy friends who treated me kindly, and as I learned to embrace my nerdiness, I gained some achievements through scholastic tests and music participation.  These things all helped me to gain some semblance of self-worth, and when I left for college, I felt pretty good about myself--until I saw the beautiful, talented, spiritual, confident girls in my classes and on campus.  And, once again, I began to lose the confidence I had so tremulously gained previously.
Thankfully, I have a Heavenly Father who was bound and determined to get me to love myself, so although I was never a social butterfly, I went on enough dates to keep myself from feeling like a troll (read: roughly one per semester), and I was blessed enough to be surrounded by positive friends, kind roommates, and inspired teachers who helped to build up my self-esteem enough to the point where I did truly learn to see my self-worth.  And although I still didn't feel confident about my physical appearance, I at least had a testimony of my individual worth as a daughter of God.
Then, during my third year of college, I met Steve.  From before we even started dating seriously, he thought I was beautiful--and told me so.  Often.  During our relationship, I began truly feeling confident and beautiful, and when I got my mission call to Taiwan (where white skin and blonde hair are things admired and nearly worshipped), serving for 18 months in a country where complete strangers oohed and ahhed on a daily basis about how beautiful I was helped my self-image to improve, as well.
How could it not?  In fact, it was a little bit of a culture shock to move back to America and not turn heads every time I walked into a room...but thankfully, at that point, I had matured a bit and learned that beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder--and I had learned to behold myself as beautiful.
I understand that I am most definitely in the minority here...according to this study by Dove, only 4% of women around the world consider themselves beautiful.

We tend to be so much harder on ourselves than on others--so much more willing to see the good in others where we only see the imperfections in our own personalities and bodies.
Although my body has definitely changed from the time that I was a thin, strong, recently-returned missionary--I've added a few pounds, a few extra wrinkles, and more than my fair share of stretch marks--I still see myself as beautiful.
Please don't misunderstand me.  I know I'm not winning Miss America or a modeling gig any time soon (unless it's as a foot model--I do have really cute feet).  I understand that my beauty is not the type you see on posters or in movies. 
But I can look in the mirror and appreciate the laugh lines around my eyes, the ones that look just like my mother's.  I've earned those laugh lines!  Spending 18 months out in the hot Taiwanese sun without sunglasses, smiling as I spread the most joyful message I knew--that was the best possible way to create those wrinkles. 
I'm learning to love (or at least tolerate) the stretch marks across my now-floppy tummy, and I've accepted the fact that I may have jiggles in places I had never had them before even as I cross the finish line of my marathon.  My stretch marks and bread-dough belly came from the most perfect nearly-10-pound baby ever born, and at his birth (and when his siblings came along and added to them), I wept with awe and gratitude that my imperfect body could create something so wonderfully, amazingly perfect--not once, but three separate times. 
I like my blindingly white legs, and although they are neither shapely nor tan, they are strong and allow me to run, to dance, to move with little to no pain most of the time.
Despite my body's many imperfections, of which I am perfectly aware, I still consider it a beautiful thing.  And I hope that, as my body grows older and more imperfect, I can continue to feel and show gratitude for what I believe is one of my Heavenly Father's most magnificent creations--and help my oh-so-perfect daughter learn to feel that same confidence in and gratitude for her body.
I am, after all, His daughter, and created in His image.  What's not beautiful about that?