Scars and Age
She stands in front of the mirror, staring at the face looking back at her.
She scrutinizes every wrinkle, every scar, every line. "Imperfections, all of them", she thinks to herself. "Beautiful women don't have sunspots and crows feet. They don't have dark bags under their eyes. They don't have scars that makeup can't hide," she continues.
She forgets the scar under her jaw is a reminder of that angel that was watching over her when that horse smacked her in the face.
The laugh lines and sun spots are from a lifetime spent outdoors, enjoying good times spent with her family and her friends.
She doesn't see that although her eyes are tired, so many women would trade their troubles for hers in a heart beat.
The extra weight she carries in all the wrong places, the creaks in her joints and the pain in her bones, are a reminder not of her age, so much as a reminder that she's still alive.
Makeup might not cover her wrinkles and tired eyes anymore. The fountain of youth the cosmetics on her counter promises still proves to be elusive.
She has finally realized that she is the only one who sees that scar these days, and she's slowing learning to accept that. Her husband reminds her that she is as beautiful today as the day he met her, because her beauty is far deeper than her skin.
She's never been afraid to laugh. Or cry. She's never shied from hard work. She has been tender to her husband and her babies, and firm when they needed it. That woman in the mirror- well, she is just a reflection of this single moment in time, and is only a reflection of the surface. The face in the mirror fails to tell the whole story- the beautiful truth of a woman who lives each day to it's fullest.
She finally turns away from that woman in the mirror, puts on some sunscreen and a ball cap, and heads out the door. The sun is shining, and she doesn't want to burn another minute of daylight.
With or without makeup. Imperfections and all. As perfectly imperfect as God made her.
❤️ Richelle
