Move over, Cindy!
I have a thing or two to tell you about beauty.

by Rhonda Wheeler Stock

It's the first thing people notice about me when we meet. They get this glazed, deer-in-the-headlights look in their eyes, then spend the rest of the conversation pretending they don't notice. As they finish our conversation and move away, I see them surreptitiously glance back and whisper among themselves. I know exactly what they're saying.

"Can you believe how much she looks like Cindy Crawford?"

OKAY, OKAY. I'm not being entirely honest. All right, fine, none of it's true. Period. I bear absolutely no resemblance to Ms. Supermodel, or she to me. I'm a 30-something suburban mother of 4 who drives a minivan, for goodness' sakes. I've been known to, well, fib about my weight on my driver's license (God doesn't really count that as lying, does he?). I pretend to highlight my hair when everyone knows I'm covering the gray. And my idea of a successful photo shoot is when no one in the picture is holding two fingers behind his brother's head and my teenager agrees to wear anything besides baggy jeans and an even baggier T-shirt.

Cindy and I don't just move in different circles, we move on different geometric planes.

Still, we do have a few things in common, such as breathing. And we're both brunettes, although Cindy has a tawny mane of stylishly tousled locks and I have a conservative bob I hide under a baseball cap when the humidity is high.

Each of us also went through a Richard Gere phase. One of us married the movie star (it wasn't me); the other merely adored him from afar. In fact, when Mr. Gere swept actress Debra Winger off her feet in the film An Officer and a Gentleman, I was ready to march my husband down to the Naval recruiting office. Now that he's into the Buddhist thing (Mr. Gere, not my husband), the passion's gone. Sorry, Richard.

Furthermore, I have a small white scar near my mouth where the doctor removed a horrible warty-looking growth a few years ago. Cindy has a big brown mole in almost the exact same spot. We both have two eyes, two ears, a mouth, and a nose. I'm almost five feet tall; so are her legs. Guess I shouldn't bother auditioning as her body double!

YET I KNOW one thing Cindy and I—and every other woman on the planet—do have in common. It's something that transcends time, distance, culture, and creed. It has nothing to do with how wealthy, important, or physically beautiful we are. We can't earn it, buy it, or even ask for it; it's given to us at conception, and we carry it with us for eternity. It's simply this: We each bear the imprint of the Divine Creator. God Almighty, the Holiest Being in the universe, consciously and deliberately made you and me—and Cindy—in his likeness! We can look at one another and know, This is what God looks like.

Sometimes we women think of ourselves as the postscript at the end of the creation account. Although the details of Eve's creation appear at the end of Genesis chapter 2, God includes us in the broad outline of creation in chapter 1. Right there, in Genesis 1:27, we read that "God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them" (emphasis added).

Some women are tall, lean, and graceful.
          Then there's the rest of us.

Yes, God used a man's rib as a starting point (Gen. 2:21-22). But that's no less miraculous than creating a man from mud! We weren't an afterthought: "Adam looks kinda lonely down there. Hey! I know! I'll make a woman!" God knew all along he would bring into existence a man and a woman.

Just as an architect designs and executes a plan, so God had a special plan in mind when he created us. Not physical perfection; different cultures and eras have their own unique definition of beauty. (That's why I love to visit art museums. I'm convinced I was born in the wrong century and that Rubens would've chosen me over Cindy any day.) We're talking about an indefinable something God gives each woman, a certain loveliness that's uniquely, wonderfully female.

Each woman is different. Some of us are tall, lean, and graceful. Then there's the rest of us. But short or tall, pretty or pudgy, delicate or sturdy, each is lovely because we're made in God's image. We're beautiful because he's beautiful.

So when I see Cindy Crawford on yet another magazine cover, I don't have to envy her voluptuous body and gorgeous looks. (I am envious, but I don't have to be—I'll have to work on that.) I can look at her and think, She's made in the image of God.

Well, actually I'll think, Parts of her were manufactured here on earth, and that picture's been airbrushed to perfection, but mostly she's made in the image of God.

Amazingly, I can look in the mirror and say the same thing: "Rhonda, you are created in the image of God. Because of that, you are a beautiful woman. Even though your tummy's as soft as Grandma's featherbed and twice as lumpy. And the sand's settled in the middle of your hourglass figure, and you need contact lenses so you can find your eyeglasses, and . �?

Maybe I'd better stay away from the mirror for a while. Hand me my Bible, please!

Have you made peace with the mirror? If you could teach a supermodel a thing or two about beauty, what would it be? What do you know about real beauty, and how did you learn it? Whether it involves a makeover, a women's retreat, childbirth, or a gift that makes you feel extra-special, we want to hear your stories! (For details, see page 10.)

Copyright © 1999 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian Woman magazine. For reprint information call 630-260-6200 or e-mail [email protected].
May/June 1999, Vol. 21, No. 3, Page 68