Grace

        Grace loved to play dress up. Every day the six year old would climb the old wooden steps up into the attic. It was her own special place. A place that took her on many wonderful adventures; magical forests, kingdoms built on clouds, and secret underwater cities. There were stacks of old trunks filled with costumes of all sizes and colors, but her favorite item was an old wedding dress. No one really knew where it had come from or who had worn it, all that mattered to Grace was that it was hers for the keeping. She would stand in front of the antique full length mirror that her mother had picked up at a garage sale to aid Grace in her attic adventures, and image herself the most beautiful bride. The dress of course was far too big for the the girl's petit frame and the bottom of the dress pooled around her feet giving the impression that she was standing in a satin cloud. The lace around the neck and sleeves was stained and torn and the dress smelled slightly of moth balls, but non of this mattered to the little girl. In fact, she didn't even notice these slight blemishes. When she gazed into the mirror all she saw was a beautiful girl wearing a perfectly fitted white dress with a veil flowing gracefully behind her, a bouquet of exquisite red roses clutched in her delicate hands as she walked down the aisle of old suitcases and boxes to meet her prince charming. She was truly the envy of all brides.
        Often Grace would still be lost in her wonderful attic world when her father arrived home from work. He would stand at the bottom of those old wooden stairs and call up to her.
"What game is my little princess playing today?"
Her could hear the patter of little feet running across the wooden floorboards. She appeared at the top of the stairs, her soft green eyes wide with the excitement of seeing her father and a radiant smile upon her lips.
"Oh, Daddy, look! I'm a beautiful bride!"
        The Father's reaction echoed his daughter's as he stood beaming at the sight of his precious little girl bounding down the steps still clutching the hem of her dress in one hand and in the other a handful of field flowers she'd picked earlier that day.
        Through the eyes of anyone else the girl would simply be seen as she was. A simple girl with messy brown curls, in a dress that was far too big for her with stains of juice and dirt down the front, and dirty fingers curled around some weeds . But this was not at all how the father saw her as he watched his little girl run towards him. He only saw the most beautiful girl with green eyes that reflect joy and life. He saw a stunning pure white dress that seemed to flow so elegantly behind her as her little feet lept from stair to stair and hands that clutch the flowers the he knows were picked with such delicate care.
       The tender unfailing love for his little girl does not allow him to view her any other way. In the eyes of the Father she is beautiful, precious, and pure. 
       As she leaps into his open arms he draws her close and whispers gently into her ear, 
"And you are truly the most beautiful bride I have ever seen."