“Dandelion blossoms, like colorblind freckles on a field of green.” It was a line I’d read in a magazine many years ago, something that always stuck with me. To me, it meant that even when beauty is right in front of us, not everyone can see it.
Maybe I remembered it because I felt as though my own beauty was hidden. I hoped that someone would see it under my layers of flab. I struggled to see it myself sometimes when I looked in the mirror. I had battled my weight for years. Finally, I’d joined a weight-loss program at the invitation of a friend. The program worked wonders for me. I lost about 50 pounds and had 53 more to go to reach my goal weight.
Recently, though, I’d come under a lot of stress. I’d let my good eating habits go. I’d given in to my cravings for high-calorie foods, including my favorite hot-fudge sundaes. I hoped that I hadn’t gained back as much as I feared.
Lord, no matter what happens, I prayed on the drive to my next weight-loss meeting, may I still be able to see dandelion blossoms on a field of green. I gripped the steering wheel of my Pontiac and tried to tell myself that the damage wasn’t too bad, but I knew the scale at my weigh-in wouldn’t lie.
I arrived at my destination. My time to face the truth. I went behind the privacy screen and stepped onto the scale. The balance moved, then settled. I’d gained weight for the third week in a row. So much progress wiped out.
“You need to buckle down and work the program,” said the meeting’s leader, clearly disappointed in my results. “We’ll see how you do next week.” I felt like a total failure. Next week? I couldn’t stay for the rest of the meeting. I bolted out to the parking lot.
I was almost to the car when I stopped in my tracks.
Dozens of yellow dandelion blossoms had been carefully arranged on the green hood of my Pontiac. Dandelion freckles on a field of green.
