11/03/2023
My hands will eventually tell the story of how I lived
Soft with wear
Calloused from work
Scarred, yet healed
Scratched, with broken nails and cracks
Imperfect
My face will surely tell of my age
Wrinkles and lines, fissures and cracks
Framed by gray hairs and probably sun spots
My body already tells the truth
Of a lack of self control
A little too much of me, on the hips and at my waist
Too many carbs, too much of a sweet tooth
Too many cold beers on hot summer days.
Sometimes I get frustrated that my features are a little too sharp, that my hair is a little too straight, and that my shoulders are a little too broad. I wish my nails were a little more manicured, and that I knew how to contour my makeup.
But the other day, I saw a photo of an elderly ranch woman's hands- hands with skin that was as translucent as tissue paper, with big knuckles and misshapen fingers and in my mind, I pictured this beautiful woman who had lived an incredibly full life. She likely reached a point long ago where she didn't worry about wrinkles or gray hairs, and it dawned on me-this is how I hope my grandchildren see me when I am old.
I hope that they see a woman who worked hard, cooking meals and breaking colts and tending to cattle and babies, while mending fences, driving tractors, and riding a desk chair. That they see a woman who knew good times and bad times, and through it all, managed to persevere.
I hope that they see a woman with a little extra fluff to hug at her middle, with wisdom lines around her eyes and hands that are perfectly imperfect. After all, true beauty really has nothing to do with how we look, but how we live.
❤️Richelle
