Aha. I am signing myself up for the Naked Face Challenge.

You got it, peeps. I will let my face live nakedly- no make up, no fancy-shmancy editing (which I can’t do anyway- but I thought I would throw it in there) and no bashing on the way my face looks. Ever. Again. No bashing. Ever. You’ve got to keep me accountable with this one.

I have never *really* been one for a lot of makeup, I’ve never liked all the fuss’n’nonsense that goes along with it and I have a horrific habit of touching my face- all the time- and when you wear makeup that means you have a horrific habit of looking like your ink didn’t dry all the way when you came out of the printer that morning. And yet, that doesn’t mean that I have been kind to my visage. That doesn’t mean that I don’t daily glare into the mirror and wish that there was *something* makeup could do to change how I look. I think my face has an awful hard job dealing with the critical person who lives behind it, and I think I need to stop being such a creep. Really.

SO, I guess, more than a ‘no-makeup-commitment’, this is a ‘love my naked face’ commitment, because really, that’s the point after all. It isn’t the makeup, it’s the attitude that’s poisonous, at least for me.

My boss, who is an amazingly eclectic and slightly eccentric person, told me her perspective on makeup the other day and it really got me thinking.

“You know Andi- I think wearing makeup is a socially acceptable form of lying. We’ve been doing it for so long nobody thinks anything of it- but stop and think about it. I mean, really, what’s everybody trying to hide anyway? Like nobody’s gonna know everyone else has got acne and blotches and pale lips and dark circles under their eyes. Get Real! That’s what I say.”

That’s what she said.

It’s not that I am never going to wear make-up again (especially when I’m wanting to NOT look like some washed-out Caribbean Zombie come December) it’s that I am going to stop raking my naked face over the coals.

So There.

I Promise to be more kind and loving to my naked face, taking care of it, but not obsessing over it. I Promise to let pictures be taken of myself *without* all the drama of dreading how horrible I am going to look in them- I will smile and say cheese and let it go. I promise to stop making fun of my smile, or the way that one eye squints up in a pirate-like fashion. I Promise to be thankful for my dark skin in the summer, and my pale skin in the winter- not everybody gets the chance to be two-toned. I Promise to recognize that God gave me this face… and I should think accordingly.

Anybody joining me?

Read Deanna’s thoughts on the subject at her blog, Delirious Rhapsody and then join up!

she wanted storms

I asked for them, and when the horizon darkened and the clouds gathered, my cowardly heart retreated. It had already accepted the heartbreak that was destined to come, as sure as the storm, curled up into a ball and proceeded to ignore me as I stood on the edge of the field and waited. Numbness and hope flared up in confused competition as the winds gained speed, but my heart refused to open its eyes and look on.

My soul looked upon the scene and, exhilarated, made its choice, opened itself to the floods that would come. Found the God of its strength to be Faithful. It braced itself, and spoke words of peace to my heart when the first hesitant raindrops began to fall on my face.

Press on. Open wide. Swallow deep. Lean hard.

It is not all as it seems. Even if everything crumbles, we will build again, my soul says. We have a head start on the reconstruction if we only stand to watch it.

My heart gathers new fears from memory as the clouds gather strength from the sky and my soul is entwined with what is yet to be. I am here in the midst of it all, waiting for the storm.