Rough around the edges.

A little tattered and torn.

The leather cover worn and soft.

But the content inside is the same.  Maybe better because things have been underlined. Circled.

Notes written in the margins of the fragile pages.

Its whole life has been spent offering wisdom and guidance to others.  Offering life.

It has done well and it shows.

It’s easy to appreciate the wear and tear of an old Bible.

But why do we have such a hard time admiring those same things in people as they get older?  In ourselves as we age?

We bear the beauty marks of life.  They are part of our story, our rich history.

Stretch marks that tell of great love in carrying children in our bodies for nine months and then enduring unspeakable pain to bring them into the world.  Maybe they’re not stretch marks at all.  Maybe they’re chosen scars that say, “I love you this much!”

Maybe they’re actually beautiful.

Hips and waistlines that will never be the same because they hosted a growing child and kept it safe until that child was ready to be born.  Bones and joints that shifted and took on new angles to do whatever it took to hold that baby as close to a mother’s heart as possible until just the right time.  A new shape that says, “I love you this much!”

Maybe that new shape is actually beautiful.

Dark circles that come from those first months of no sleep.  Eyes that can barely stay open.  But eyes that can see that they wouldn’t have it any other way.  Eyes that say, “I love you this much!” and then fall shut in exhaustion.

Those are some beautiful eyes.

Time goes on and life gets busy.  More children come and things get even crazier.  There is no time for primping or exercise.  Every moment is spent meeting the needs of little people clamoring at your knees.  Clothes are marked with the drippings of noses and mouths and dirty little fingers.  And every stained pair of worn out sweats declares, “I love you this much!”

And maybe even that outfit is a beautiful thing.

Before you know it, the kids are grown.  And you’re left with a face in the mirror you hardly recognize.  Crow’s feet from laughter.  Forehead lines from worry.  Wrinkles from smiling and crying and kissing boo boos your entire adult life.  Things sag from lack of use.  Things ache from over use.  Gray hairs appear like a crown from a life of experience.  And every new sign of “old” sings, “I’ve loved you this much!”

And how couldn’t all of that be beautiful?

What if, like that old Bible, we carried more value as we aged?  What if we recognized our “signs of life” as beautiful, as pictures to our stories, as outward glimpses into what our hearts have to share?  What if our torn covers and underlined pages only illustrated that we have lived and loved well?  What if, like that Bible, the older we get, the more opportunities we have to reach more people and the script of our life can help another?  Character displayed for all to see.

What if we embraced age and all it’s “graces” and glorified its beauty instead of trying to run from it?

Age does not diminish us.  It helps define us.  We have stories to tell.  Our faces and bodies show it.  And our hearts reveal it.

Lives that say, “I love you this much!”  just like Jesus did in that old Bible.

And there is no denying, THAT is a beautiful thing…