Yet, the most beautiful face I've ever known, belongs to my eighty one year old mother. Each time I see her, I am struck anew by the depth of her loveliness. The joy in her journey, her struggles with sorrow, the threads of wisdom she's bent down and picked up along the way, are present in each line of time on her face, in her voice, and the way she presents herself. She gave me birth and has been there with advice when I wanted it and even when I didn't want it. She has been my one constant in life.
How could anything ever be more beautiful?
We're taught to dread wrinkles and sags and softening of the skin, the inevitable proof of the time we've spent here on earth. Yet, the more time we put in, the more reason we find to celebrate each passing year. Character is forged, integrity strengthened and gratitude becomes a feeling so deep the word no longer conveys a strong enough meaning.
I don't see an aging sixty two year old face when I look in the mirror. I see a person growing 'into' her face, finally understanding the process of filling it out. Mom has always known what her convictions are and has built up enough strength to live them even at the age of 81. I just hope I can live long enough to do the same.
The best of my youth is gone. 45 years ago my dad and I were putting shingles on a cabin that no longer exists on our SCCOG Campground. Teen Talent was coming up and Youth Camp was on the horizon. Those days are past and never coming back. The best of here is now, and the best of aging is yet to come.
The face of youth is a blank canvass. As Forrest Gump said, "Life is like a box of chocolates-You never know what you're going to get." It is through the physical brushstrokes of aging that a masterpiece is created. Thank your Lord for my masterpiece.
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