I have been pondering two different things recently. One is that I wrote my first blog post one year ago. When the thought “start a blog” first popped into my head, my response was, “No!”

As I wrestled with that idea, I didn’t believe I’d attract many followers but at the same time thought maybe something I shared about my life would resonate with someone else. Probably just one “someone else.” So, I resolved to write for the one person who may read what I would write each week.

I have also been thinking about purple hair – because I currently have purple hair. More accurately, I have 3-4 inches of purple tips as a result of my incredible friends donating to a Facebook fundraiser for the Epilepsy Foundation of Minnesota. If donations totaled $1000, I would semi-permanently dye the ends of my hair purple. They raised $1101!

I have since actually dyed my hair three times. The first showed up only as a light burgundy color and didn’t really stand out enough to embarrass me, which, of course, is part of the reason people donated in the first place! The second time (with bleach) turned my hair purple but faded to pink in less than two weeks, and I had promised to sport purple the whole month of November. I took a picture after dyeing my hair for the third time to assure everyone that I was, in fact, staying a very obvious purple for the whole month (which is Epilepsy Awareness Month by the way).

So, I had these two separate thoughts floating around in my head until one day when they became one thought. I scrolled past this photo in my camera roll last week and realized she is the one person I’ve been writing for this last year. She’s the one person who has read everything I’ve posted, to the website, to Facebook, and to Instagram.

I thought I had taken that picture for a fun, personal Facebook post about the progression of purple hair for the month.

But suddenly I saw a picture of someone who needed to hear what I wrote. Reminders to rest, to dance, to pay attention to the world around her. Reminders that God fiercely loves her.

I have a favor to ask. Take a selfie. Right now. Post it here in the comments if you’re willing. Don’t give me an Instagram-worthy photo. I literally paused on my way out to my garage to take this picture. So, just stop what you are doing & take a picture. Wearing no makeup, making a sandwich, hiking, folding laundry, wherever you are. And tell me who you see.

I’ll go first. I see someone…

…who tries to hide her scars – and since they are invisible, she can do it most days.

…who can hide the scars until they ache too much & then tries really hard not to cry in front of others (and who cries way more even than she writes about) because she hates that about herself.

…who feels guilty for having such a high-functioning son compared to others with horribly debilitating types of epilepsy.

…who gets back up day after day,

…except for every once in a while, when she gives herself permission to crumple into dark thoughts & not force her way out. Then after a while gets back up.

…who said she would always be honest here and has done just that even when she’s thought it may turn you away.

I see someone whose son said,

“That purple is just PERFECT! You should do a $2000 Facebook fundraiser next year and color ALL your hair purple!”

I see a really fortunate mommy who is fiercely loved.

Look at your own picture.

Who do you see?

I have called you by your name; you are Mine.
…you are precious in My sight
and honored, and I love you…

GOD, Isaiah 43:1, 4