Not Like the Girls in Magazines

Sometimes a photo brings back more than just a memory.
It brings back the sound of water and the feeling of it taking away summer heat.
This is one of those moments.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines.

She was beautiful, but not like those girls in magazines.
She was beautiful for the way she thought.
She was beautiful for the sparkle in her eyes when she talked about something she loved.
She was beautiful for her ability to make other people smile, even if she was sad.
No, she wasn’t beautiful for something as temporary as her looks.
She was beautiful, deep down to her soul.
She is beautiful.

—Author unknown (I believe it’s often misattributed to F. Scott Fitzgerald)

Mindful Moment With My Feet in the Cool Water

At one point, Greg’s truck thermometer read 114 degrees, a blistering temperature. Even I, a girl born in Georgia and who went to college in Alabama, was feeling the heat. And then, this photo resurfaced. When I look at it I almost feel the cold creek water swirling around my ankles, stones pressed gently into my feet. We were outside Asheville, and I had slipped off my shoes, letting the current carry my stress away.

Greg calls me Beauty. He says he thinks I’m beautiful because I’m lost in a moment in a place I love. The poem above hangs on the wall of our bedroom. It’s not about appearances—it’s about the kind of beauty that doesn’t fade. The kind that lives in thoughtfulness, quiet strength, and presence.