“Just a Little More Beauty, Lord,” is an original poem! My first, in fact. It may not be Emily Dickinson but I hope these words will still touch you and (maybe) make you smile as you reflect on the truth about our desires and our body image struggles . . .
Just a little more beauty, Lord. That’s what I’m asking from you.
I’m not begging for a model’s thighs or to wear a slim size two.
Smooth out these rolls, this dimply skin, lift up some sag, if you will.
Wipe out each stretch mark too please, Lord. I know you have the skill.
Just a little more beauty, Lord. Not a lot. It won’t be trouble.
Grant me more shapely arms, firm abs, and a chin that’s less than double.
Trim some pounds, while you’re at it. Five-to-twenty? You decide.
I don’t crave a perfect figure. Just a body I won’t need to hide.
Just a little more beauty, Lord. I’m not asking in excess.
A better body to serve you, that’s what I’ll do when it you bless.
Could you also boost my cleavage? Then, take some cushion off my rear.
Surgeons could fix it all, but I’d rather bend the Great Physician’s ear.
I know you told the rich man more money will never satisfy.
But, I’m sure that beauty is different, Lord. Maybe I could just try?
I wait and I pray. But, the scale doesn’t budge.
Same stray hairs and jiggly arms. No less pudge.
God, where are you hiding? Can’t you hear all I need?
Does not the King of Kings want his daughter to succeed?
Then, in your goodness, you answer my request.
You tell me seeking beauty denies me from your rest.
Chasing beauty won’t fill. It’s a trap, you explain.
“It keeps us apart, binds heart and soul to what’s vain.
I want you to find satisfaction in me alone.
Then you’ll release these temporal afflictions you bemoan.
Firmer calves, fuller lips, a bigger bust or fewer grays,
fill you only for a season. But my love has no limit of days.”
“Dear daughter,” he continues. “In my image you were made.
Real joy won’t come from looking good, earthly beauty always fades.
I designed you for a reason, with great purpose for your life.
Use your body to serve me, not as a quest for, “Hottest wife.”
Meekly, I respond. You’re right. A little more beauty would never do.
I chase an idol that promises life, instead of pursuing you.
Forgive me, Lord. For in my sin, I surely miss the point.
A life spent chasing beauty is not the kind you would anoint.
Remove my passion for smaller jeans, good hair and thinner thighs.
Instead help me find life in you alone and see beauty through your eyes.
Did this poem touch you? Would you consider sharing it with a friend?