Marches On

On Saturday morning, the day of the April Birthdaypalooza, the Mr. rolled over, kissed me on the forehead and said, "You're beautiful." And I agreed.
Not that I agreed in the literal sense of about to be crowned Mrs. America beautiful. But I felt beautiful to him and now, that is not just enough but it's everything. I don't think any longer when he calls me "Beautiful" that it's an empty word or a compliment born of pity. He sees me beautiful. He makes me beautiful.
Ever the insister of reality, as we snuggled up talking about the busy day to come, I looked at his face just inches from mine. Sleepy eyes and tousled hair so familiar to me and still so sweet. And I thought, "Man, are we old." Those sleepy eyes are wrinkly around the corners and that tousled hair is becoming more salt than pepper. I kept these facts to myself though. I figured the "beautiful" statement was better left to ring in the morning air.
In just the last five years or so, I have become no longer the youngest one in the room at work. I look around and see lots of prettier faces and sexier bodies. I nearly shouted for joy when belly shirts went "out" and longer shirts with empire waists came "in." I now use Gold Bond lotion on my face at night during the winter because it is so dry. Seriously. Same for my hands. In my twenties I never wore foundation. Now I have an arsenal of sunscreens, lotions, potions and powders.
I've no doubt under my highlights and lowlights I now sport gray lights.
I have had moments of fleeting panic for as long as I could remember dreading the inevitable. Daboyz growing up, my grandparents passing, my parents and my husband growing older. What will I do if/when...?
The only comfort the Lord ever offered me in those days was that when it came along, I'd be ready. So far, this has been true.
Time refuses to wait for my mind to catch up to its handiwork. And so I wake up in the mornings now to a middle-aged man with crow's feet who was once a seventeen year old boy with braces. And the girl in the red strapless prom gown has gray hair.
And the threat of time has become the gift of time.
And we are beautiful.

Psalm 102:27 & 28 But you remain the same,and your years will never end. The children of your servants will live in your presence; their descendants will be established before you.