In the mirror she stands 5’4 ½. She is not as cute as I remember her. Her eyes are puffy and her skin is far too ruddy to go anywhere like this. Her hair last night seemed acceptable- I mean, sort of, as best as it could get. This morning though, it is coarse and straight where it should be curly- (Sigh)…this is me. Right here in the mirror, but I don’t like her…again. Have I let go of all sense of pride? Am I now embracing middle age, do I have frumpy motheritis? I am uncertain.
Off to the living room I go. In my quiet little spot, I choose to open a different mirror. In Psalm 139 God says I am fearfully and wonderfully made- but my flesh cries out- gray hair, really? In Ephesians 3:17 He says, “I am rooted and established in Christs love.” But what if I am the only one Lord? I’m letting go of the hair dye to embrace the truth- growing out 1/8th of an inch at a time. My pride is really hurting, but my soul is really growing. This truth is evident in the way I can love more deeply, more freely.
Take a deep breath, oh yes. I am reminded, it is His breath in my lungs- my life is a precious gift. Still I am unnerved, insecure, and shaky on this new path of identity. In a way I am embracing my own mother who stood looking at the bathroom mirror, screaming at the hot pink roots – that were supposed to be medium brown. Hot pink wasn’t a trendy hair color in the 90’s. My childish voice called out to my then 38 year old mother. “You are beautiful just the way you are, don’t dye your hair!” That girl meant what she said to the mother she loved.
Now I am that mother (thanks mom for the genes). I am no stronger in front of the mirror. It is a struggle to let go of the pressure I feel to blend in with everyone else. And then I remember how much I needed my own mother to know that she was beautiful. I remind myself that I want other women to know that they are beautiful too. Our beauty doesn’t come from a bottle.
On this couch I remember what reflection I really want to cast. I want to be a woman full of the grace and love of God. Such women are as timeless as the One they reflect. So on day 943 I embrace my appearance- Silence! squeamish self- We do embrace her and every gray lock that speaks of her surrender.