My husband thinks I’m beautiful.
I’m not sure why, exactly, since I often see the extra padding I carry for emergencies, the lines that have cropped up around my face, and the gray hair which has been reproducing at alarming rates lately.
I look in the mirror and see imperfections.
My husband seems to look at me and see more than that. And I am grateful.
We were camping in northern Michigan recently, and we were at a restaurant on a beautiful vista looking over Lake Michigan. My entire family was milling about the area, kids running around and adults chatting and trying to keep order. I didn’t spend much time with my husband while we were there, busy as we were with the family. But later, at the campsite, he told me that he had looked over at me during our time there, and thought, “She is beautiful”.
As you can imagine, my eyes teared up. How often do I tear myself down, quickly find all my flaws and assume that is all others see as well? He has seen me at my best, but more often he has seen me at my worst. He has seen me when my face is contorted with frustration, or sadness. He has seen me in the throes of childbirth – five times over. He has seen my body change over the years, and my face age. He sees all these things, and loves me in spite of (and sometimes because of) them.
By worldly standards, I am not beautiful. But who cares what the world thinks? I’ll take his opinion any day. And I’ll cherish the love he has for me.