Somewhere in my mother's house exists a worn picture of an awkward little girl sitting cross legged on a picnic table squinting into the late summer sun.
Pale skin, freckles, reddish hair and a toothy grin. She was a mess and for years I was embarrassed by her image.
But now, with time and grace tempered compassion, all I want to do is to scoop her up and hug her tight. Try to squeeze in a little love and courage she'll need for the things to come.
She didn't know that she was strong and brave.
Or smart and a natural leader.
She didn't know that the very things she despised about her looks made her unique and pretty.
She didn't know that SHE WAS NOT FAT!
How I wish I could just love her a little more and whisper gently to her...
It will be ok.
It will be amazing.
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