Freckles and Feet

My mom has freckles all over her body. She’s a redhead, and it’s just par for the course. When she was pregnant with me, she prayed over and over that I wouldn’t have freckles. She probably didn’t even pray as hard about me having ten fingers and toes as she did about no freckles. When she was growing up, she got teased a lot for hers, and she thinks they’re ugly. The funny thing is that when I was little, I wanted more freckles because my mommy had so many. What is one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.

I do have freckles. Not a lot, but just enough, I think. Someone told me once that freckles are angel kisses. I told my mom that, and she said the angels must’ve really loved her. She was joking, but I told her she was probably right, and that it sounds nice that angels picked her as a favorite and showed her so much divine affection.

I have big hands and feet. Sometimes I think my hands can be pretty, but mostly, I think they’re just big. When I danced, they helped me look graceful. But they’re not my favorite part of me. I had to learn to love them, and it wasn’t easy.

I can’t remember anymore when I first had this thought; it seems like something I’ve always had. There was something I got teased for a lot when I was little. And it was something that I actually liked about myself so I think that made it harder when I was teased for it. Why didn’t they see what I saw? I decided that one day, I would meet someone who loved me for it too, and that would be the man I was going to marry. He would tell me he loved it, and then I would know. It would be a sign. I thought that maybe God made this so that only one person could appreciate it.

It’s a sweet idea, but it ended up being something that a lot of people like about me. So kinda shot holes in my theory, ya know? At some point, I decided on something else. Something that I loved about me, but felt no one had ever noticed. I think it’s beautiful, but no one pays it any mind. I waited and waited and eventually someone did notice it and said he liked it. And no, we are not married...though he's still the only person to ever say anything about it...still probably a theory of holes.

I think the actual point of those ideas, though, is that I love those things about me. Things that some don’t love or don’t even see. And all that really matters is that I see them, and I love them. I think that’s something I’ve gotten better at as I’ve gotten older. And damn, I do love me. I rule. There are so many great things about me, more than a few that others are blind to. It’s a hard thing to do, to love yourself. Even harder is to forgive yourself. I even have a sweet little nickname for me I say to myself when I need to calm down. If I don’t love me, who else will?

My friends love all the little things about me, and my best friends find things in me to love that even I don’t see. Freckles are obvious and easy to notice, but it’s the spots and scars on the inside that only love can find. A few years ago, a new freckle showed up, and it quickly became my favorite. It’s on a toe. So cute! And it gave me a reason to like my feet. I think really it’s the spots and the little things that are the most important.

baby, these are all the things i know are true
your heart, your skin, your breath
all the things inside of you
your freckled chest
my wishing stars