Let's just say my nine-year-old has been a little traumatized a couple of
times this week. Well, maybe not quite traumatized, perhaps a better
description would be deeply disturbed. She was deeply disturbed by something
that I had no idea mattered to her.
...these children of mine...they never cease to amaze me..
Sunday morning after attempting to make something presentable out of my hair
and then moving on to hers, I had my "I am hurrying and concentrating at the
same time" face on, and unbeknownst to me, she was watching that face in the
bathroom mirror.
Suddenly Brenna spins around and spews emphatically, "Mommy! You're getting
wrinkles by your mouth! AND I DON'T LIKE IT!"
I'll just tell you, that does wonders for your self confidence. I mean, I
know I'm not as young as I used to be, but I do use moisturizer people.
She went on to point out the specific trouble spots she had noticed, as I
tried to pick up what was left of my severely-damaged-by-a-nine-year-old
dignity. I tried to explain to her that the wrinkles she noticed were from
laughing and smiling, so I smiled just to prove it to her and she was
satisfied.
For about 10 hours.
Then we had deeply disturbed situation #2.
We are sitting in Sunday evening services, I am digesting a sermon on
Nehemiah and she begins forcefully tapping my left hand. I turned to look at
her with my this-better-be-important-bugged-out eyes only for her to point out
wrinkles she had just discovered on my hand.
"Mommy, your hand, it has wrinkles too!" she whispered in desperation. I
reassured her that these had been there for a long time and were not new.
I thought she had recovered until we stumbled upon deeply disturbed situation
#3 on Tuesday evening. You see, I was totally living on the edge Tuesday
morning when beating this hair o mine into submission, and decided to - -prepare
yourselves- - part my hair on the opposite side. The problem with this is, I
have more grey on that side for some reason. I have reluctantly come to accept
this strip of wisdom on my scalp, at least until my next highlights anyway, and
thought nothing else of it.
You guessed it. Tuesday evening when she was talking to me she noticed the
grey. She stopped mid- sentence.
MOMMY! YOUR HAIR! as she grabs a chunk of my bangs. IT'S TURNING
GREY!
Friends, I had not quite recovered from the wrinkle situations yet, and was
feeling really good about myself as I removed my grey strands from her
hands. Seriously, I thought the child was going to cry!
She explained to me that this all upset her because she doesn't think I'm old
and doesn't want that stuff to happen to me. I know where she's coming from. I
don't like to like to think about my parents growing old either. To think of my
daddy, who personally went to deal with school bus bullies face to face, to
think of my daddy who could do anything or fix anything, growing old and unable
to fight my battles, saddens my heart. Even all grown up, the first place I want
to go when I'm hurting is to Mom who loves unconditionally, no matter the
situation. To think of my mom who could whip up an outfit on the sewing machine
in no time flat, my mom who taught me everything I know about cooking and
mothering not being there brings tears to my eyes at the slightest thought.
I understand Brenna.
But I also understand this - The God who created me, who knit me together in
my mother's womb, is no older today than He was yesterday. He is always strong.
He is always available. He will always be able to defend me against the
bullies. He will always be right there to listen when I am hurting.
He will never wrinkle. He will never grey.
Just think, He is completely unaffected by time. He will continue just as He
is right this moment forever.
Never changing.
That, my friends, is a wonderful place to find comfort.
Wrinkles...
Grey...
They're ok. Just evidence that I am closer now than ever before to meeting
Him face to face.
Skin cream recommendations anyone?
Biggest Blessings,
times this week. Well, maybe not quite traumatized, perhaps a better
description would be deeply disturbed. She was deeply disturbed by something
that I had no idea mattered to her.
...these children of mine...they never cease to amaze me..
Sunday morning after attempting to make something presentable out of my hair
and then moving on to hers, I had my "I am hurrying and concentrating at the
same time" face on, and unbeknownst to me, she was watching that face in the
bathroom mirror.
Suddenly Brenna spins around and spews emphatically, "Mommy! You're getting
wrinkles by your mouth! AND I DON'T LIKE IT!"
I'll just tell you, that does wonders for your self confidence. I mean, I
know I'm not as young as I used to be, but I do use moisturizer people.
She went on to point out the specific trouble spots she had noticed, as I
tried to pick up what was left of my severely-damaged-by-a-nine-year-old
dignity. I tried to explain to her that the wrinkles she noticed were from
laughing and smiling, so I smiled just to prove it to her and she was
satisfied.
For about 10 hours.
Then we had deeply disturbed situation #2.
We are sitting in Sunday evening services, I am digesting a sermon on
Nehemiah and she begins forcefully tapping my left hand. I turned to look at
her with my this-better-be-important-bugged-out eyes only for her to point out
wrinkles she had just discovered on my hand.
"Mommy, your hand, it has wrinkles too!" she whispered in desperation. I
reassured her that these had been there for a long time and were not new.
I thought she had recovered until we stumbled upon deeply disturbed situation
#3 on Tuesday evening. You see, I was totally living on the edge Tuesday
morning when beating this hair o mine into submission, and decided to - -prepare
yourselves- - part my hair on the opposite side. The problem with this is, I
have more grey on that side for some reason. I have reluctantly come to accept
this strip of wisdom on my scalp, at least until my next highlights anyway, and
thought nothing else of it.
You guessed it. Tuesday evening when she was talking to me she noticed the
grey. She stopped mid- sentence.
MOMMY! YOUR HAIR! as she grabs a chunk of my bangs. IT'S TURNING
GREY!
Friends, I had not quite recovered from the wrinkle situations yet, and was
feeling really good about myself as I removed my grey strands from her
hands. Seriously, I thought the child was going to cry!
She explained to me that this all upset her because she doesn't think I'm old
and doesn't want that stuff to happen to me. I know where she's coming from. I
don't like to like to think about my parents growing old either. To think of my
daddy, who personally went to deal with school bus bullies face to face, to
think of my daddy who could do anything or fix anything, growing old and unable
to fight my battles, saddens my heart. Even all grown up, the first place I want
to go when I'm hurting is to Mom who loves unconditionally, no matter the
situation. To think of my mom who could whip up an outfit on the sewing machine
in no time flat, my mom who taught me everything I know about cooking and
mothering not being there brings tears to my eyes at the slightest thought.
I understand Brenna.
But I also understand this - The God who created me, who knit me together in
my mother's womb, is no older today than He was yesterday. He is always strong.
He is always available. He will always be able to defend me against the
bullies. He will always be right there to listen when I am hurting.
He will never wrinkle. He will never grey.
Just think, He is completely unaffected by time. He will continue just as He
is right this moment forever.
Never changing.
That, my friends, is a wonderful place to find comfort.
Wrinkles...
Grey...
They're ok. Just evidence that I am closer now than ever before to meeting
Him face to face.
Skin cream recommendations anyone?
Biggest Blessings,
