My friend, Candy, possesses an instinctive flair for design. Large floral arrangements look stately in her living room, and when I visit, I always think I should go home and create something just like it. I love that look. Yet when I go home and play with arrangements, the affect falls woefully short. Imitations never measure up, do they?
The trick lies in finding the grace inherently deposited within each of us. As individual as the arches, loops and whorls inscribed in our fingers, we create different testaments of that grace. The tragedy of our century has been the enslavement of our daughters to the silver screen, which portrays a staged, manicured, false image girls vainly strive to imitate. They cannot, for our daughters are real. An unscripted life will never result in the elusive images of Hollywood icons. Celebrities don’t even look like icons outside of the illusory realm of Beverly Hills.
In the process of trying to be someone else, girls lose their sense of self. Bereft of those underpinnings they fall victim to depression, anorexia, and worse. Talk to a girl, I mean really delve deep down, and you’ll hear her say, “Oh, if only I had a straight nose.” “If only I had a flat stomach.” “If only I had a bigger chest.” “If only I had long legs.” Insecurity plagues each one.
Conversely, maturity lies in eschewing cheap imitations for the real, unvarnished gleam of healthy skin and shining eyes and a good heart. Girls need to see it modeled and hear our admiration when they express themselves. They need the tools to discover and create their own grace notes, their own instinctive “prints” of natural beauty.