Lately I have been a bit preoccupied with this face, noticing it’s flaws. Age has a away of defining you and it’s not always in the best light. Last year I waded through a lot of doubt about myself and my future; am I needed, is my calling as a pastor over, am I vital, have I aged out of ministry, am I smart enough, do I still have purpose, is there a place for me in my family, am I supposed to be a step-mom, grandmother, wife, or am I failing everyone, am I significant?
If your a fellow sister in the afternoon season of life, then you might have waded through similar dredge. It’s a girl thing, I guess, to have moments of questioning your existence. And, as I questioned God on every level I possibly could, desperately seeking him in the midst of the world around me being just as lost as I was feeling, he entered my wondering.
Sitting with me, holding my heart in his hand and embracing my spirit with his, Jesus and I went down memory lane. As if looking at a family photo album of adventures we traveled together, my Lord reminisced with me of struggles and freedom found, storms overcome, battles conquered, and wounds healed. With care, he brushed a strand of my graying hair off my cheek and compared it to the Father’s wisdom. He tenderly traced the fine lines around my eyes, opening his hand, where a small puddle of my tears rested in his palm. With glory illuminating him, he kissed my furrowed brow, acknowledging my countless prayers on behalf of his children. His smile was pure, innocent, and loving when speaking of my frown lines that witnessed life’s disappointments, moments when he came near to me in my despair with his comfort and counsel.
Looking into this face I don’t see as many flaws as I once did. My Savior has blessed me with new vision, foresight, an optimism that is grounded in hope. Hope in my God for a future of continuing his legacy in every facet of life. Hope in my marriage, family, friendships, ministry, and calling. I have hope in God to use me as an earthen vessel, just as I am, to love others as only he can.
I’ll be turning 58 this week and instead of blowing out candles, I want to fan the flame.