“Beautiful” by Michelle Jones

I woke up in my imagination this morning with the man I hope will be my husband one day. ┬áHe doesn’t actually exist, but I call him Naked Fred, for reasons I will explain on another day.

From brow to sole, he is Love. It is the sexiest thing about him. (I suspect it will always be that way, even after he becomes a physical reality.) This morning he asked me, “Do you know how beautiful you are?” I wondered about that. Do I?

We all have some idea of whether we are beautiful or not. “How beautiful” is another thing altogether. That assumes some standard I must compare myself to. There are as many standards as there are people, right? So which one matters?

This morning, I came to this conclusion: I know how beautiful I think I am, but my hope is that my thoughts agree with God BEFORE I meet someone whose thoughts agree with me. That will be a romance for the ages.


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