I am not sure if I am speaking for all girl-kind, but anytime a guy turns me down I always pin it on my looks. I must not be thin enough. My hair must not be long enough or highlighted properly. My clothes must be outdated, and he must have been disgusted with that patch of zits on my chin that seems to never disappear.

It doesn’t matter how many times I am rejected, the same daydream plays in my mind afterward: I am a gorgeous woman in classy, stylish clothes with all the perfect accessories. I am slender and tall. My hair is long and flowing, my eyes sparkle and I look perfect. As I saunter by, all eyes are on me, including those of the guy who rejected me. In some daydreams he is with a group of guys who ask, “Why did you let that one go?” In other daydreams he is with his new whiny girlfriend, and I walk by, acting as if I don’t even notice him. In all my daydreams he has the same epiphany: I am perfect, and he was a fool for not realizing this. Sadly, I think the only way he would come to such a conclusion would be if I changed my appearance completely. I know at some point in my life I have to be content with who I am and how I look. I guess I am not quite there yet.

I had been dating a guy for a while when he decided that we didn’t click and that we should just be friends. I began to dwell on my image: I bought perfume because I remembered him saying how he loved when girls smell fruity. I wanted to buy nice clothes, but I figured I should lose some weight first. I dyed my hair and bought a whole bunch of new makeup. Before, I had been satisfied with who I was, how I smelled, the color of my hair, how I dressed and looked—but after we broke up, I felt that I wasn’t good enough. Outwardly I agreed with him when he said we were not right for each other. But the feelings of rejection remained, and I became obsessed with figuring out what it was exactly that he didn’t like.

It all came into focus one day as I was sitting in a hospital room watching my friend take care of her ill grandfather. I started to realize the extent to which my thoughts were focused on my outward appearance. I don’t know if it was the smell of the hospital or if it was Jesus revealing something to me, but I started to replay in my mind one of the hardest days of my life: I was waiting for one of my best friends to visit. She was late—as she occasionally was—but suddenly the phone rang, and a voice on the other side of the line informed me that my friend had been in a car accident. I frantically ended the conversation, made some phone calls and found my self in the emergency room. It was all a blur.

My friend was dead. I was escorted into the emergency room, where a nurse asked if I would like to pay my last respects. I don’t even remember answering, but the next moment I found myself at the side of a cold metal table where the body of my best friend lay. A sheet covered her to her shoulders. She was naked. She was lifeless. In that moment, I grieved over a dear friend, full of character and an amazing love for Jesus. Not once did I think of her fashion sense, her special perfume or her looks.

I snapped out of my recollection of that horrific day when a nurse came to assist my friend’s grandfather into the bed. The reality struck me: This body is but a shell. Some bodies may live to see wrinkles and sore spots, while others, like my best friend, won’t live past the age of 20. It is such a struggle to focus on eternal things rather than things that fade, rust, wrinkle and pass away, but it is something that I need to continually remind myself to do. I am amazed at how much time I focus on belly bulge, zits, oversized ears and ways to remedy my flaws. The time I waste on adorning my outward beauty should be short compared to the time I spend advancing His Kingdom and glorifying His name.