Beauty from A Distance

Catalina always thought the boutique window was a kind of stage. The mannequins stood stiff and lifeless, yet somehow alive under her careful hands. As a young single mother, she didn’t have the luxury of chasing dreams in Paris or New York. Her runway was Main Street, her stage lights the morning sun, and her models—well, they were silent figures dressed in the colors of her imagination.

From a distance, people slowed their cars to admire the display. Swirls of fabric, mismatched patterns, bold lines—all stitched together in ways the little town wasn’t used to seeing. It looked beautiful from afar. But up close? Catalina heard the whispers.

“Too wild.”

“Too bright.”

“No one around here would wear that.”

At first, the criticism stung. She needed this job at the boutique, and she wanted so badly to bring something fresh to her community. But when the doubts crept in, she thought of her daughter, Sariah. Each morning before school, Sariah would twirl in front of the mirror in one of the patchwork skirts her mother made. “I feel like a princess, Mama,” she would say. And Catalina knew, deep down, that her gift had purpose.

Still, Catalina often wrestled with the thought: What if people only like it from far away? What if, up close, they never see the beauty I see?

One evening after closing, Catalina stayed late to rearrange a new window display. She chose a simple dress—linen, cream-colored, with delicate blue embroidery along the hem. It wasn’t her boldest piece, but something about it spoke softly, like a hymn. As she worked, she remembered a passage her grandmother used to read from 1 Samuel 16:7: “The Lord does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”

She paused, needle in hand. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe her designs weren’t about whether they fit the world’s standards. Maybe they were about revealing a deeper kind of beauty—the kind God sees when He looks at the heart.

The next week, a community event gave her the chance to test this. The town square was hosting a charity fair, and the boutique owner encouraged Catalina to put some of her “creative” designs on display. Rebecca prayed the night before, asking God to bless the work of her hands, just as He had blessed the widow’s oil in 2 Kings 4.

At the fair, Catalina set up a small corner booth. Bright scarves fluttered in the wind. Dresses that mixed florals with stripes hung proudly beside jackets stitched from recycled fabrics. It was a kaleidoscope of color against the gray brick of the square. From across the plaza, people stopped and pointed.

“Wow, look at those!” someone said.

“Beautiful display,” another whispered.

Her heart swelled with hope. But then came the hesitant steps closer, the furrowed brows, the polite but unsure smiles. One woman muttered, “Not for me,” and walked away. Catalina felt her spirit sink. Maybe it really is just better from far away, she thought.

But then something unexpected happened. A teenage girl approached, her hands shoved in her hoodie pocket, her eyes shy. She lingered near a rack of skirts before finally whispering, “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Do you… do you think I could try one?”

Catalina’s smile returned. “Of course,” she said, gently handing the girl a deep purple skirt with golden stitching that matched her skin tone perfectly.

The girl stepped into a makeshift changing area and emerged moments later, her whole face transformed. She spun once, twice, then looked at her reflection in the shop window. “I feel… I feel like me,” she said softly, tears in her eyes.

Catalina’s throat tightened. At that moment, she realized: even if most only admired from afar, God could use her work to touch even one life up close. And wasn’t that enough?

By the end of the fair, she had sold only a handful of pieces. But she walked home with Sariah’s small hand in hers, her heart light. Like the city on a hill Jesus spoke of in Matthew 5:14, her designs weren’t meant to blend in. They were meant to shine.

That night, Catalina prayed with gratitude. “Lord, let me keep creating, not for applause, but for impact. Use these hands to show Your beauty in a world that sometimes forgets how to see it.”

And she knew—whether her fashion was admired from across the street or worn proudly by someone brave enough to embrace it—her work was not in vain. Because true beauty, like God’s love, doesn’t fade the closer you get. It only shines brighter.