when i was little, the girls in my class would take chalk and scratch my skin with it, covering my arms and legs in white powder. and they would say with glee, "look, now you are white like us!"

and that is when i first thought something was wrong with my skin color. 


in middle school, these boys would circle me in the hallway, right next to the choir room and they would call out, "here comes indian rags." and "hey, bangladesh trash."

and i continued to hate my skin color. 

and at the edge of high school, i learned who Jesus was. for myself. i learned that He loved me, that He created me in His image, that He set me apart and created me for His delight and His glory. 

it was not until i was at tender 15 and 16 that i began to focus on what He thought of me and not them. and my skin color became a little more soft on me. not so tight and constraining. 

it still is a tug of war, this battle over the skin i am in, but more and more, i think i am ok with it. because He made me. and He loves me with a tender and compassionate love. and i belong to Him. and if i am not mistaken, his skin was a dark olive color, so maybe i look more like him than i thought..

and if there is Anyone i would ever want to look like, it is 
Jesus.