Daily I mourn the loss of my youth. Like the soil of a thousand years’ erosion revealing the jewel beneath, it falls from my frame and with it falls the scales from my blinded eyes allowing me to see clearly the essence of my soul. I accept it’s passing with a quiet dignity that comes with the knowledge that although I shall miss it, what I have left is even more precious now.
As we get older, our faces become paler, our bodies weaker, frailer. As we look down upon our weathered hands they somehow seem more tender and beautiful as we realize they are oft folded in prayer, or holding gently the hand of a loved one.
Yes I shed a tear and sighed away the remnants of despair, but deep inside I felt the peace that only comes to us upon the wings of hope, a promise whispered into the heart. Be still and know that you are being formed into the image of God.
For it is the soul that takes on a certain beauty as we grow older when we walk closer to Him.
There is a Japanese term called ‘Wabi-Sabi’ it means to find beauty in the ordinary things, especially in the natural world, things like a gnarled tree branch, or an ancient fossil, or perhaps the fallen petals from a flower floating upon the surface of a puddle.
But I wonder, will we see this beauty as we gaze into our mirror, or will we only see that stranger there who sort of resembles us, but maybe looks a little more each day like our mother or grandmother?
