Skip to main content

Wrinkles

Guys. I have them.

My first set of wrinkles.

There's these crinkles under my eyes and creases at the edges of my smile that didn't used to be there, and when I bend my wrist there's these little lines--lines like the marks in the desert soil when it's been too long between rainfall.

I'm 26 years old, but I swear I feel the exact same as I did four years ago when there wasn't a line in sight...

Now lots of you are probably laughing because you're older than me, or because I'm being a little melodramatic (and I know that I am). But, well, still! It be crazy that I'm changing.

Kevin and I were looking at pictures the other day, and we came across one from our dating days. He looked like he was just a little boy, and I wondered how that could possibly be. We've known each other less than four years and been married for three of those, yet here we are... older... wrinklier.

This wheel of life, this motion of growth and constant change (or a house in a constant state of entropy, as my mom used to say) is part of my life and yours, yet why do we feel like such strangers to it? Why do we comment over and over again on each others' children "my how you've grown! Nuh-uh, there's no way that's Caden..." when OBVIOUSLY months and years apart result in change?

While we form and flourish and later crust and crumble, I do know this:

That old primary song for birthdays, "one year older and wiser too," they're speaking the truth. The older we get, if we're living life right, we're gaining smarts and wisdom, which is kind of awesome.

And this I know too, that we're forever. We're not just this life, guys. These wrinkles, they're not forever--the pains and problems that come with an aging body, they're dissipated--Zapped, if you will--by the power of Christ's resurrection.

I struggle sometimes with the idea of an afterlife or resurrection, because lots of people I love have died to young or suffered so much and I just wonder how they're still around when my emptiness for them is so real. But time after time, God sends me a calm, peaceful reassurance. I don't just have 100 years to live, nor do they. We've got years beyond death, and a perfect body to go with it.

Until then, I'mma embrace these wrinkles. This song by Diamond Rio helps me to do that.

But when the time comes, heck, perfect resurrected body--I'm excited for ya.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Problem with Chick Flicks.

I really, really, really enjoy a select few movies that I willingly watch over and over again. Pride and Prejudice is one of them. You see, Elizabeth's defense of her family, her sense of self respect, her ability to admit that she was wrong and to appreciate Darcy despite all his quirks, and quizzical brow-ness... it's marvelous. My husband doesn't share the sentiment, could you tell? ... and that's okay. There's rare a chick flick I enjoy near as much as I enjoy Pride and Prejudice or A Walk To Remember , and I wanted to explain why. You see, there's more than just a few problems with (many, not all) chick flicks:  (and if you have a chick flick that escapes many of these pitfalls then please oh please leave it's title in the comment section!) The heroine (or suitor) is less than honorable. I have a hard time rooting for a girl to get a gentleman when she's spending her time being scandalously loose with other men ( #thenotebook) . An...

Where's Number Three

A neighbor in her mid-thirties. A woman in her seventies. Their single commonality? They both asked me: Where's number three? I have a son, his name Charlie And then McKay, he's not quite three In my heart, both fit perfectly Yet others ask: Where's number three? Perhaps it's that I miscarried, My spouse's infidelity, The ache of infertility, A battle raging mentally, Illness on a crippling spree, Our family is complete, maybe. The reason's one or more of these, Yet you dare ask: Where's number three? In this question, running free Are judgements, jeering icily "You're not enough, Mik, can't you see? Buck up and give us number three!" I used to flounder, squirm, agree Or curl up small, cry, and plead. With time, I've seen things differently. I won't explain for number three. The questions of maternity Are just between my spouse and me And Parents, guiding Heavenly So please don't ask: Where's number three? Artwork Credit: Be...

A Year and 10 Days Ago

Dear Friends, Family, Acquaintances, and you lovely random passerby of the Blogosphere-- A year and 10 days ago I set out on a journey to write a blog post a day, for two months straight. I did that successfully, and then decided to extend my challenge to a one-year challenge. My report? I wrote 317 blog posts in a 365-day period. And I think that's pretty rad. A few reflections on this experience: Firstly, I started this blog not just because I love writing, but because I needed help. I was suffering from some intense postpartum anxiety, but I didn't know that's what it was at the time. Every moment of every day I felt like I was under severe stress and pressure, even when there were no evident triggers for such. The feeling in my gut on an almost constant basis felt like the queasy stomach, racing heartbeat, and unsettled mind that greeted me before every math test and job interview I've had growing up. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know how...