Rough and Worn

One of the treasures of living in Europe is the old buildings.  Worn.  Lived in for centuries.  Not like our new American neighborhoods with perfect houses on perfect squares of grass.  If these Italian walls could talk.
I am middle-aged.  My body is starting to look like it and act like it.  Worn by life.  I come with wrinkles and stubborn gray hair and weird purple lines on my legs.  I come with heart-ache and bitterness, too.  I come with a heart that's been broken a couple of too-many-times.  I come with a stiff back and a changing silhouette.
And I come with wisdom, I hope.  And sensitivity that I didn't have twenty years ago.  I come with a vision of what is real and what is really good.  I come knowing who I am in Christ -and knowing how often I fail and how I do it.  I come knowing more of God's grace and I love Him more.
So, let it all count towards my beauty and charm.  And let me celebrate this season, too.


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