When I was a young girl, I saw life for what it really was. I remember sitting on the worn-out porch of our tiny house, the paint peeling from the wooden boards, as the sun set behind the distant hills. God forbid you be pretty and poor; the world seemed to mock you with every glance. God forbid you be kind-hearted but unattractive; the kindness in your eyes often went unnoticed. I was just a girl.

Violet Johnson, you're ugly, you're so ugly," the boy sneered as he pushed me. My knee hit the ground hard on the gravel path, scraping against the rough stones, and a sharp pain shot through me. The playground was quiet, the swings creaking in the breeze.

"I, Jack Blue, want you out of my sight, you hideous beast!" he shouted, his words cutting deeper than the wound on my knee. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the park.

Out of anger and humiliation, I grabbed a handful of rocks from the ground and hurled them at his face. My pride couldn't take the sting of his rejection, and I ran home, tears blurring my vision.

Mom! Mom!" I yelled, wiping the tears from my eyes. Her voice, smooth as honey, replied, "I'm back here, munchkin. What's wrong?"

"The boy that I liked called me ugly," I sobbed.

I looked in the mirror multiple times that day. "Am I ugly, Mom? Am I a hideous monster?" My mom froze for a moment, then hugged me tightly. "Sweetheart, you're the final artwork of God. Everything He creates is beautiful." She looked deep into my eyes, my reflection mirrored in her dark pupils, and said, "You are beautiful."

The kitchen...