Fierce Beauty (5 page)

The eagle was rebuilding her crown.

“Look at me. I’m a princess!” the little girl said as she pointed to the ruffles that adorned her shirt. With surprisingly practiced rhythm, Carrie guided my attention to a sparkling necklace of faceted beads and matching bracelets that encircled each wrist. Without pause, ten perfectly polished pink fingernails were raised for my admiration. I smiled when I noticed her wrists were held high, with fingers draping downward in the universal “kiss my ring” position.

Over the next hour I watched this eight-year-old flit about our ranch like a confused butterfly not knowing where to land. She was scheduled to ride a horse, but that didn’t interest Carrie at all. Sadly, nothing I had to offer satisfied her standards.

For years I’ve reveled in sharing with the kids who come to Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch, “If you go home clean, you probably didn’t have any fun!” I’m quite certain this harkens back to my own childhood, when I was famous for skidding into the dinner table from parts unknown, completely out of breath. Often my grandpa looked across the table at me, shook his head, and exclaimed, “Good grief, kiddo! It looks like you’ve been running through the bushes to comb your hair!” Experiencing life was a good thing. I always counted myself extra lucky to bring home a few souvenirs. Whether they were stuck in my pockets or snagged in my hair really didn’t matter.

In the sixteen years I’ve run Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch, I’ve come to
realize that ranching and horses aren’t for everyone, and that’s okay. My little princess guest seemed to fall into this category. She ricocheted from one area to another, finding each venue as unsuitable to her liking as the one before. Soon her sweetness deteriorated into sour whininess.

“Euwwww, it’s dirty!” she complained. “I don’t want to ride, paint horses, swing, or play games on the grassy hill. My fingernails will get full of dirt!” As she spoke, she raised her palms so they faced her chest, and she spread her fingers. She circled aimlessly, looking like a sterilized, half-pint surgeon who couldn’t find her patient.

Unfortunately, there was little that life on the ranch, or life in general, could offer her. Eventually Carrie settled on a small green bench nestled under a pine tree as the only place where she could remain clean and beautiful. Sitting quietly, she occasionally smoothed her shirt, examined the luster of her manicure, and carefully inspected every glittering bead that she wore. This seemed to be the best the young princess could do to fill her time. Meanwhile, her peers had an absolute ball daring one another to swim in the horse trough, striping their arms and faces with paint, riding ponies backward, and fully experiencing everything the ranch had to offer.

Although I checked often on the little girl, she rejected my repeated offers. She was determined to do whatever it took to stay beautiful. For the rest of the afternoon, she sat under the pine tree … completely alone.

Watching her, I couldn’t help but think of another small “girl” who used to come to the ranch and sit alone. Her name was Amelia, and she often drove her two granddaughters to the ranch to ride.

Amelia was short and round with a cherubic, pie-shaped face. Her salt-and-pepper hair seemed to have a will all its own and framed her lively expressions in unruly waves. Her dark brown eyes gleamed with an impish twinkle that made me want to burst out laughing at a joke she’d yet to tell. Though her clothing was often old and too large for her small stature, she accessorized every outfit with something beautiful, something
that always matched—a big bright smile. Amelia’s playful attitude seemed to beckon the wounded to rise up and dance. Often I imagined her leading a joyful procession. I’m certain she would have … if she
could
have.

Amelia was crippled. A bout with polio during childhood had rendered her lower body nearly useless and caused her great pain. Even with the support of bulky leg braces, each step was accompanied by throbbing pangs. Simply getting in and out of the car, something most do without thought, was for Amelia an ordeal that took considerable planning. Yet mechanical assistance, walkers, canes, and lifelong pain were not enough to diminish the pure beauty of this amazing woman.

Upon her every arrival at the ranch, Amelia steered through the main gate and blessed me with a gigantic smile and kisses blown in my direction. Since she was so small, her welcome barely cleared the dashboard. Her chin was always held high, not in arrogance, but out of necessity to see over the steering wheel. She drove a worn-out white sedan that reminded me a little of her—it displayed some rust and a few dents yet somehow managed to faithfully get where it needed to go. Amelia always parked by the ranch trading post. It was a happy place that offered the best view of the hitching and riding areas and of the Cascade mountains in the distance.

“Kim, Kim!” she would hail in a heavy Spanish accent. Motioning with her hands, she would summon me to lean through the driver’s open window and hug her. With most of my torso stuffed in the narrow space, we laughed like little girls and reveled in a moment of simply being together. Never did I miss the opportunity to tightly embrace this triumphant sprite.

The attribute I loved most about Amelia was her brilliant attitude: she never surrendered to her quiet life of pain. In her mind the social health and well-being of her shy grandbabies far outweighed her own ease or comfort. With what appeared to be unlimited patience, she sat in her car and watched them enjoy our horses for hours.

One summer afternoon I stood waiting for my precious little friend to make her way up the ranch driveway. It was hot, and the light afternoon breeze was a gift to the back of my neck. Hearing the sound of tires crunching through gravel, I turned to look down the hill and saw Amelia’s car approaching. As soon as I saw her face, I knew something was wrong. The trademark smile was missing, along with the usual kisses blown my way. Even my window greeting did little to lift her somber mood. After some honest questioning, the source of her sorrow finally ebbed out in a trickle of painful words.

“There is nothing that I can do, nothing that helps this wonderful place,” Amelia said. “Everyone who comes here helps by doing something, yet here I sit, able to do nothing.”

My heart withered under the weight of Amelia’s distress. As if polio hadn’t already taken enough from her, now it threatened to rob her joy as well. The discouragement she expressed lay in gloomy contrast to her usually sunny spirit. Even after my strong rebuttals, she left the ranch a few hours later, looking as defeated as when she had arrived.

Two weeks passed before Amelia returned. This time I was relieved to see that she was her bright, waving-and-blowing-kisses self again. She pulled her car to a stop in her favorite place and could not roll down her window fast enough. Moving her mouth up to the opening window, she triumphantly declared, “I finally found what I can do!”

Before I could reply, she turned away from me. By the time I reached her car door, she’d turned back around and now held an enormous plate of homemade sugar cookies. She lifted the platter until it nearly collided with her chin. Amelia beamed with such brilliance that her delight poured over me like a warm, living wave. All she wanted to do was help, and by finding a way, her joy was released for all to benefit.

With a broad smile, Amelia presented me with another offering—words that carried more wisdom than I may ever possess. She looked up into my face and said, “If everyone does something, even a little
thing, only then will the mountains move.” Just like that my friend imparted to me a life-changing truth—a pearl of wisdom about the size of Jupiter!

With a bob of her chin, Amelia directed me to take one of her cookies. After retrieving the treat, I glanced around the ranch. It was alive with children, many who hadn’t had a cookie—or any gift—in a long time. Undeterred by her limitations, Amelia intended to bless each one with a sweet little present made only for them. When I heralded the arrival of the cookies, several kids seemed perplexed. One little boy asked, “Why would someone who doesn’t even know me want to give me a gift?” I answered loud enough so Amelia could hear me: “Because she wants you to know that you are very special and that she cares about you.”

The little boy cautiously walked over to her car door and watched other kids receive a sugary snack. Amelia noticed him and asked, “Young man, would you like a cookie too?”

He nodded soberly. Amelia encouraged him further by saying, “How about this one?” as she pointed to a cookie that seemed to have a bit more frosting than the others. His face lit up with more than a little disbelief. “Really? You made this
just for me
? Wow!” After accepting her gift, the boy stared alternately at the treat and Amelia. His innocent expression indicated he believed he’d just witnessed his first miracle.

Few people would look at Amelia and anticipate a miracle. If they judged her by her appearance, they wouldn’t expect much at all. By the world’s standards of beauty, Amelia simply wouldn’t measure up. Her focus, however, was not on how she looked but how she lived.

Yet the little boy and I both saw Amelia as
radiant
. Her selfless actions proclaimed an entirely different kind of beauty. Out of so little, she gave so much. Though her life was daily shrouded in pain, she chose to live beyond its exhausting reach.

Amelia chose to fight through her difficulties and become a blessing to others … to be beautiful from the inside out.

Like the little princess who chose to sit alone, many girls who come to our ranch love to play make-believe. It can be a harmless and healthy way of growing the imagination. Many adults do the same thing. Sadly, unlike the little girls who know they’re playing make-believe, the grownups often do not. Women are not simply creating fantasies to stretch their imaginations; they’re
believing
them.

Ladies, when did we become so shallow? How long have we embraced the great lie, the sad declaration that how we look is more important than who we are? On what grim day in history did we surrender to our selfishness and begin bowing before our own reflections, becoming little more than slaves to our desires?

Why do we choose to exchange the ability to love and care for others for the crushing low of merely loving and caring for ourselves? Throughout the ages women have been
lied
to. Unfortunately, we’re still choosing to believe the lies!

Daily, this world challenges our equilibrium to the point of wreckage. We’re pressured by the media in all its forms to accept misguided standards of what is lovely, moral, and satisfying. For many of us, these lies have been so deeply rooted in our every fiber that the hollow pursuit of physical beauty has become our god. As a result, scores of women now view life through eyes so dim that all they see is a horizon filled with their own darkened perspective of beauty. Many have become so dull that all they feel is a painful sense of lack.

The truth is, we have it all backward!

God’s definition of beauty is not from the outside in … but the inside out. His Word says, “You should be known for the beauty that comes from
within
, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God” (1 Peter 3:4). Because of this truth, all our efforts to beautify our external facade can
never
fix or cure an inside ugliness. If our inside is broken, no amount of exterior renovation will restore it.

The day we called Jesus Christ “our Lord,” we accepted His invitation to become a fledgling warrior of truth for Him. For too many of us, however, the young warrior within is not growing into a mighty force for our King. For thousands of Christian women, it isn’t growing at all. Instead, the warrior we were meant to be is joining a nation of self-entitled princesses: “They will betray their friends, be reckless, be puffed up with pride, and love pleasure rather than God. They will act as if they are religious, but they will reject the power that could make them godly.… Such women are forever following new teachings, but they never understand the truth.… Their minds are depraved, and their faith is counterfeit” (2 Timothy 3:4–5, 7–8).