The most beautiful face
I've ever known, belongs to my ninety-two-year-old grandmother, Elizabeth. Each
time I see her, I am struck anew by the depth of her loveliness. The joy in her
journey, her struggles with sorrow, the threads of wisdom she's bent down and
picked up along the way, are present in each line of time upon her face.
How could anything - ever - be more beautiful?
We're taught to
dread wrinkles and sags and softening of the skin - the inevitable proof of the
time we've spent here on earth. Yet, the more time we put in, the more reason
we find to celebrate each passing year. Character is forged, integrity
strengthened and gratitude becomes a feeling so deep the word no longer conveys
a strong enough meaning.
I don't see an aging face when I look in the
mirror. I see a person growing 'into' her face, finally beginning the process
of filling it out. At long last, she's figured out what her convictions are,
and she's built up enough strength to live them.
The best of youth is
gone. The best of here is now, and the best of aging is yet to come.
Fresh and new, the face of youth is a blank canvass. It is through the physical
brushstrokes of aging that a masterpiece is created.
© 2000 Terri
McPherson |
