The other day, I picked up a women's magazine. One of the articles was about age. It said something like, "You can tell a woman's age by looking at her hands." It gave several helpful hints to helping one's hands look younger, so people wouldn't be able to know how old one really is.
I guess my question is, "So what? Does it really matter if my hands look 50 years old? That's half a century, for crying outloud! Since when is it a sin or a shame to get older and to look one's age? Why do we praise the woman who manages to look younger than she is? Why do we want to hear the praise ourselves? What is the grand prize we are searching for? What is the competition? Do we really want to see who can look the youngest 50 at 50? Why? What for?"
These are questions I have been asking myself. My heart grieves. I no longer grieve because I am looking older. I grieve because we are missing what is really important. We are forgetting to keep our spirits ageless with the fountain of living water. We are forgetting that a merry heart does good like a medicine. We are forgetting that all people are beautiful when they are living close to God. We are forgetting to encourage the younger women to be happy at home and to love their husbands and children. We are forgetting to be content with wrinkles and age-spots on hands that have loved and touched many lives. We are forgetting to love ourselves and the way we are right now.
My hands show my age. Good. That's fine.
I hope they also show strength of character and beauty of spirit.
I hope they show a life of service.
I hope they show love.
2 comments:
What a great post Annette. Some of the most vital, memorable women in my life were women over the age of 80! I think of my grandmother, my aunt "Flossie", and a whole host of elderly relatives who were my inspiration growing up. Growing old isn't to be feared!
LOVE IT !!!!!
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