Pimples at Twenty-Four

At age twelve, my smooth, childhood skin began its descent into what was, in my mind, an adolescent nightmare. The rosy glow was swapped for red pimples, and I spent lengthy periods in front of the bathroom mirror trying to attain facial perfection, often ending up in tears of frustration when my efforts inevitably fell short.  I dreaded sleepovers and hockey games, knowing that everyone would see my "real" skin when I washed my face. Many mornings, I wished that I could stay home so no one would see my face.

Twelve years later, no longer a teenager and definitely past the point I thought I would be getting acne, my skin still makes me want to stay home from school some days. My husband can attest to the sad fact that every now and then the tears make an appearance as I lament that twelve years is more than long enough for one person to deal with pimples!

This summer, though, my perspective was transformed by one of my favourite students (who also happens to be one of my favourite campers). Sitting together during free time, my eleven-year-old camper turned to me and said, "I don't know if you noticed, but I started getting pimples this year." I told her honestly that I hadn't noticed, but she went on to explain, "I try to cover them up with my mom's make-up, but you can still see them sometimes." Instantly, I felt my heart break for her. This little girl is so lovely, both inside and out, and I couldn't allow her to think there was something wrong with her because of a few pimples.

I explained to her how I had always been embarrassed about my skin, too, to which she said, "Your skin is perfect!" I pointed out to her the many pimples that were, in fact, on my face that day, and she was quick to tell me, "Those aren't even noticeable! I like your face!"

While I will admit it felt wonderful to hear those words, I knew that I needed to say more. "See!" I said. "Sometimes the things we see as our biggest flaws aren't even noticed by others! Don't waste all the time that I wasted worrying what other people think about how you look. God made you beautiful, and He sees your heart."

Throughout our talk, I felt God nudging my own heart with these words of truth. For the first time in my life, I was thankful for the imperfect skin God gave me that allowed me to share this moment with another one of His daughters. I can't say I don't still have mornings where I wish I could hide my face under a bag (or five). I can say, though, that on those mornings I sometimes hear my own voice repeating what I told my student, and it makes it much easier to look at the face in the mirror and say, "God made you beautiful, and He sees your heart."