Mirrors are a reflective surface. That’s no big surprise. Whatever, or whoever is standing in front of this shiny sheet of reflective glass will ultimately see themselves staring back at them. My grandchildren love making silly faces into the mirror and giggling at their reflections, and our cats stare intently at the unknown feline interlopers who are beyond their reach. On really good days, with just the right lighting, and with hair and make-up done, I almost like the person looking back at me. Not too shabby for a fifty something, one birthday away from sixty, grandma. I can leave the room and the house with a semblance of confidence.
But, then there are the other days. The every day, normal days, when the make-up remains in the drawer and the hair has a mind of its own, and that mind is ornery at best. On these days, I look into the mirror and see a stranger’s reflection staring back at me. Taunting me. I’m tempted to turn around to see who’s lurking behind me. But I know the room is empty except for myself. Oh my…how can this be? When did my neck become more like that of a turkey than a woman? Gobble gobble. And what about those basset hound jowls, and canyon like gullies around my mouth and eyes? Oh, and let’s not forget the increasingly friendly upper arms, that insist on waving even when my arms are no longer moving? My grandchildren find great humor in my wobbly arms. I’m not sure I see the humor. But then…
As bad as my personal mirror is to my already fragile self-image, it pales in comparison to the horrid…dreaded…fitting room mirrors! You know the ones. Full length, harsh lighting, and quite possibly purchased from a carnival’s hall of mirrors. And worse of all are the dressing rooms that have kindly installed two of the dreaded mirrors, because after all we need to see ourselves from all angles. Really? If clothes hide a multitude of sins, as well as cellulite, flub, jiggles, and too many hot-fudge sundaes: the dreaded carnival mirrors not only expose said sins, but also magnify them, and in my opinion distort them. That can’t be me in there?
No way!
Yes way?
No way!
Yes way?
So this is the part where I’m supposed to get all philosophical and positive and say something like. “We have to love ourselves for the person God created us to be.” “We are beautiful masterpieces in God’s eyes.” “Aging is a natural and wonderful part of life.” “With age come wisdom and a graceful beauty that we don’t possess when we are young.”
Absolutely everything I just said is true. We are masterpieces. Great works of art, created by the glorious Creator Himself. Regardless of how many lines or wrinkles we have, or how friendly our upper arms are, we are beautiful. Beauty as is said, is in the eyes of the beholder, and God’s eyes see only beauty.
Absolutely everything I just said is true. We are masterpieces. Great works of art, created by the glorious Creator Himself. Regardless of how many lines or wrinkles we have, or how friendly our upper arms are, we are beautiful. Beauty as is said, is in the eyes of the beholder, and God’s eyes see only beauty.
My precious little man, our 6-year-old grandson, has eyes much like God’s. It doesn’t matter to him if the make-up remains in the drawer, or is applied to my face. It doesn’t matter how unruly my hair is. It doesn’t matter how many canyons, or jowls I have, or how wobbly my turkey neck is; he says I’m beautiful. The child may need glasses, but who am I to argue with a 6 year old?
Or with God.
Or with God.
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