A Bathroom Mirror

I had an epiphany while in the bathroom at church the other day.

As I stepped out of the stall and to the sink, a little girl finished washing her hands. She was maybe eight, and she proceeded to dry her hands with a paper towel before throwing it in the trash. But instead of walking out of the bathroom right after that like I expected, she came back to stand in front of the bathroom mirror.

She stood there for a long moment, looking at herself and adjusting her hair and clothes. A twinge of sadness hit me as I stood next to her, washing my hands and watching her in my peripheral vision as she made sure she looked just right before going back out where everyone could see her.

Sad, I thought as she left, that a little girl should already be so concerned about her appearance. She's so young - she should be free from those kinds of cares. She should just enjoy life and see that deep-inside beauty (the beauty of patience and kindness, laughter and joy) matters way more than what-we-look-like beauty.

I dried my hands and threw the paper towel in the trash can. Then I stepped back in front of the mirror and stood there for a long moment, scrutinizing my clothes and hair. I pulled at my bangs and yanked at the hem of my blouse, a bit disappointed that my outfit didn't look quite as cute as I thought it did at home.

Then I stopped. I looked myself in the eye.

And I saw a little girl.

So I left my clothes and hair as they were. And I marched out of the bathroom to go laugh with my friends.