"And now, we present the winner of the Shinning Belle Award," the vibrant treble of the announcer echoed through the hall. "Helen Popoola!"

The crowd went agog with screams.

I cringed.

It was time to pull out my trump card. My signature warm (fake) smile was plastered on my face as I sauntered down the stage to collect my trophy. I wondered how no one has been able to see past my facade.

I gingerly accepted the golden statue—a model in a perfect pose which now had my name etched at the base.
Taking a deep breath, I spoke into the microphone as I raised it.

"I dedicate this to you all. You guys made this possible."

I scanned the crowd. My gaze landed on the honey-brown orbs of a teenage girl.

Her placard was the only odd one in this crowd.

'JESUS LOVES YOU! JESUS SEES YOU!' it read.

I don't know why, but that simple statement struck something inside me.

She smiled knowingly.

My eyes widened. I felt as though she knew everything I was hiding.

I felt tears rise in my eyes. With effort, I broke the connection and escaped while the crowd kept chanting my name.

Behind the curtains, my feet felt wobbly and I collapsed into a heap on the floor.
My manager hurried over to my side just in time.

"Helen," he said in a panic as he helped me steady myself. "Why are you crying? You did great! We won this. Are you feeling sick?"

I looked at him through pained eyes. What would he say when he finds out I'm expiring?

Last month, I found out I had inoperable breast cancer.

I kept it a secret and kept pursuing my long-time dream of becoming a world-renown beauty queen.

Depression crept in, and I tried to numb it with alcohol.

What was the use of the glamour and fame if no one could see the real me if no o ne could hear my silent cry, if it would all end up to nothing at the end of the day?

I sniffed and composed myself.

"I'll be fine, Mr Richard. I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed, that's all," I lied.

Remembering the twinkle in that girl's eyes, I felt an irresistible nudge. I pulled out my phone. I had to talk to someone.

Oddly, the only person that came to mind, was my pious roommate back in college. I had always mocked Grace's stupidity then. Well, look how tables had turned now.

Without interrupting, she listened to my rant about what a mess my life had become.

"I have been praying for you, Helen. Jesus sees you. And he wants you, warts, farts and all."

I chuckled. It was the most mirthful sound I had made in over a month.

"If He will have me, then I want Him too," I whispered.

Her smile over the phone was palpable. "He does. All you have to do is tell Him."

~~~

Author's note: This was a microfiction piece I played around with a while back. Know this: Jesus sees you as beautiful regardless of your past or your inner turmoil. Coming to Him is what makes that beauty glow outwards. 💖💖💖