A second glance in a mirror during a morning rush to get out of the house all of the sudden I stop, and take note. When did this happen? Where went the smoothness of my face? Dark hair that once adorned the sides of my head are now peppered with ghostly flickers of silver. Glasses I once only needed occasionally find themselves perched on my nose garnishing my face for the entire day. Cheekbones formally exuding youth and vigor now give way to a fullness that inflates with my smile. I hardly recognize my eyes anymore. I see wrinkles and lines that are not my own, but my grandfathers whose years of life were written on his face. They are now being transposed upon mine.
This isn't an opportunity to loathe the years that wear on my face, but a moment to capture and appreciate. In a world of plastic and silicone, surgical improvements are soon to be ordered up with the ease of a Starbucks coffee. A barista will now use a scalpel instead of the steamer, a venti will be a new breast size, and superficiality will be served with a dollop of whip cream.
Our culture screams our imperfections at us, and we are measured up with every change of the channel, every flip of the magazine, and in musical lyrics which sing not-so-sweat nothings about how we will never have enough, be enough or do enough.
I think we need to start embracing the person we see in the mirror. Accept that the Creator made us beautiful and we were formed wonderfully. Look into the mirror and see the gray, the wrinkles and the wondrous changes you endured as you aged and count them as reminders of a life worth lived. Maybe we'll be thankful instead of disappointed.
I hope that the wrinkles around my eyes develop enough over time to tell the same story that my grandfather's did. He was a beautiful man...and he never once ordered from Starbucks.
Photo: Oscar Selmer, my late-grandfather
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