I have scars and freckles and laugh lines and crows feet. None of which are desirable physical attributes to have when you are in your twenties. I look at myself and wish I was different. That I didn't have these permanent reminders of passing time and troubled days.
And then I look at my son.
My son's skin is pale and perfect. It is pure and innocent and unmarked from the affects of the sun or the earth. He is unblemished.
Recently I have noticed his knees have become rough from crawling and from falling in his failed attempts to walk. His innocent and inexperienced young skin is starting to lose its purity. He will soon have rough patches, scars from his many falls, and freckles from the sun (he is his mother's son after all).
God is funny like that.
Our skin is truly only skin deep, just the exterior. Our body are beautiful and in a way perfect at every stage of life but they are the shell of what matters. Our souls. Our bodies, our skin, reflects the soul.
Every scar I bare, every wrinkle... It is part of me.
One day my perfect little boy will have wrinkles and scar like mine because he lived life well. It is part of growing up. It saddens part of me but stirs up joy in another.
God's design is incredible to me.