My daughter was a beautiful little dancer last night...I have pictures to prove it!
This is remarkable because, like me, she, while rather feminine in spirit (she adores things pink and princess-ish!), has a tendancy to resemble a street orphan most of the time.

You know her, she's the one with the hole in her tights, the dirt on her nose, the scraped knee. She's the one who rejects most outfits that are not 100% cotton, stretchy, and soft ("comfy-cozy" in Hannah-speak). Yet, after an hour of stage-mommy tweaking, here she was looking like a little Madame Alexander doll. And did she care? Not really.

See, Hannah sees herself with God's eyes. She knows she is a princess. Her mirror never lies to her.

This is where she has a leg up on her mom.

While waiting for the recital, my friend complimented me on how cute I looked. I was kind of taken aback. I mean, I do know enought not to mix, say, stripes and plaids (althougth with the mix and match trend right now, one can't really be sure...), but I am so not the kind of person that you'd turn to for fashion advice. It took me thirty-two years to break the "redheads don't wear pink or red rule". But (despite my post-baby plump!), I did look kinda "hip mama" cute; fresh hairdo and makeup, brown bias-cut sweater (taking advantage of my nursing chest--a temporary but welcome commodity!) , dip-dyed skirt in white, turquoise, brown and mustard; dangly beaded earrings, little heeled sandals.....

Not ONE piece of my outerware was chosen by me! (I will take responsiblity for my seriously un-hip underware...wait, no, my mom dragged me out to buy nursing bras after Michael was born....).

My sister, Alicia, talked me into borrowing the skirt from her while she's in maternity clothing. The sweater was a gift from my aunt during her visit here last week. The earrings were a birthday gift from Alicia (she told me that I needed to wear longer earrings--I guess she got tired of my perpetual, go- with -everything silver studs!). My shoes were purchased for me by my friend and personal shopper, Jessica, when I complained that I didn't have time to go out and never knew what to look for anyway. Even my make-up was part of my sister Sarah's campaign to "update" me after the baby's birth! (Don't get me wrong--I love my new makeup so much, I'm considering putting the MAC counter on speed dial).

So, when it comes pulling together a "hip mommy" look, for me, it takes a village.

It's not that I'm a deliberate fashion dork; it's more that either I've forgotten what I look like, or more likely, no longer have a good idea of what I look like--or looks good on me. I don't make the time to shop. I don't always take the time to "tweak" my everyday look (although my husband deserves as much and I'm really working on it). Plus, my mirror lies to me...it tells me I'm a 600 pound pear-shaped blob with holes in my tights and dirt on my face.

So, I'm grateful for my "village". They challenge me to wear "hip" clothing. They compliment me. They remind me of the truth about my body and challenge my false perceptions and "rules".

Just as I can lose who I am physically, I also sometimes lose who I am spiritually. I forget what I look like, who my actions, speech and attitudes represent. And, the enemy is more than willing to jump up and show me the mirror of my own righteousness..."filthy rags" are NEVER hip or attractive!

Enter my "village" again.

I am blessed with friends ready to point me to the Word (one Savior fits all!), help me wipe the dirt off of my face (or a nasty attitude out of my life) , and remind me of the truth that I am clothed in Christ's righteousness, no matter what the mirror may say. They gently restore me.

My village doesn't stop there. They affirm the positive. They encourage me when I am making the right choices and honoring God. Those words of encouragement go a long way in helping me remember what is real.

I'm so grateful that, while salvation comes only through Christ, He never called us to run the race alone. For all of my "village"--thanks for all the times you've pointed out when I've had VPL (That's "visible panty line"!) either physically or spiritally. Thank you even more for the times you've built me up. I love you all.