I used to be.
I can remember the days when haircuts and nails and clothes mattered and lunchbreaks were filled with trips to the mall.
There are certain outfits and shoes I can describe in detail when my memory travels back to the days when I actually cared more about my outside appearance than my inside.
But now my closet is filled with comfort instead of style and I might see the inside of a hair salon three times a year - maybe.
There are still small moments. Like today, when Isabela was weighted down carrying things inside church for playday - I wouldn't get out because I had not brushed my hair.
But mostly this on the verge hermit life I live is lived with holes in my favorite comfy pants worn nearly everyday, hands that look ten years older than they are, and feet much more comfortable in flats than heels.
I don't always find acceptance, which I must admit causes me moments of self-doubt, and sometimes I want to scream, I wasn't always like this.
It's a good thing my Jesus doesn't care. It's a great thing He takes me as I am.
If He remembered my past - which He doesn't because it's forgiven - He would not care to remember heads that turned my way because of how I looked. He's only interested in hearts that notice me because of how I am. Second glances at my peace and lingers on my contentment.
Our bodies are temples and vessels and we much protect and nurture them. We must keep them clean and healthy and take pride in ourselves and our blessings. But a balance must be created with our resources and our needs - and our wants following others needs.
But . . .
I had to throw that one in there. I started this with I'm not very vain.
So, if you run across another me out there, please check out their insides before you judge their outsides.
Maybe they choose to be the way they are.