A letter to my daughters about wrinkles.

I hope they welcome some.

These wrinkles I see

They stare back at me

How can I fill them

When one day you’ll be

Standing there

With your own gray hair

I fear I’d be to blame

To fill these cracks

To show my shame

To hide these marks

They know my name

They know who I am

They know where I’ve been

They mark every laugh

They mark every win

They remember the scream

They remember the cry

Oh how I’d hate to say goodbye

To every line.

So the needle won’t poke me

I’ll let the lines crease

So that one day you’ll see

It’s okay to release

The expectations that surround

They’re swirling and stirring

And they’re yelling loudly

“Keep on preserving!”

But you my sweet girls

Your God-given beauty

Is a site to see

So precious to me

Enjoy your youth while you have it

And when the days come

To see your own lines

I hope you welcome some.

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I’m not going to pretend like I don’t try to hold onto my youth. Or that I’ll never do anything about it in the future. But there’s something inside me that sure presses hard against it, especially with two sweet girls who follow me closer than my own shadow.

Aging is inevitable and something we’ll all face, if we’re lucky. I could try to postpone it as long as possible, but with the little time I have, I have yet to be convinced that it’s a worthwhile endeavor.

If my daughters need a safe place to come as they are, I want to be that place. As the world’s trends change day by day, I want them to know that they don’t have to. I want our home to be a place where the unattainable expectations and outside voices cannot penetrate. Where they (and their friends) know they can come, with no need to impress.

At my age, when I think about the older woman I look up to, it’s the ones who cry and laugh with lines. They may not love the way gravity has weighed them down, but I love how they don’t hide it. There’s a comfortability around it that I’ve never quite been able to put my finger on. And I’d always hoped I’d be like them.

My own hair has started sprouting sparkles, and my face is starting to drop. It’s wild to watch. But also beautiful. A new kind of beautiful. Not a youthful beauty, but a life-filled beauty

I’m sure I’ll have a good laugh in my old age at what I call a wrinkle today. But we all look at our reflection with a magnifying glass, don’t we? I wonder if I’ll be glad I never gave in to society’s pressures? I hope so. Do I judge those who do choose the needle? Of course not. We all have different reasons we do what we do. Especially to our face. We all have different heart pulls and perspectives and I only know mine. I can’t tell you why the Lord has given me this conviction, but I trust that He knows my daughters better than I do. I trust He knows the future better than I do. So I can trust him today. Even with my gravity-succumbing face.

“But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7 ESV

Lord, I pray for the woman reading this today. That if they too are tired of the striving, that we can both rest in your loving embrace. That we can focus our gaze on you today, and not the approval of others. Thank you for caring for your daughters and making each one of us beautiful in our own way. No matter our age. Amen.