“We Were Young and Beautiful…Now We Are Just Beautiful!”

An old woman came to my door today. I’ve known her since I was in my early twenties. I lost track of her in my thirties. Then, she moved in with us when I was in my early forties. She was usually pretty quiet. She struck me as sad though she never told me that. When I turned fifty-three, I moved away and she didn’t come with me.

I see her every once in a while…more so the last couple of years. She hovers in the background, watching….and waiting. She doesn’t impose. She’s very polite in her waiting. I’ve felt her nearby. I’ve kinda been anticipating a visit.

And yesterday…she knocked on my door.

Proverbially.

We had to work on the lawn. The storms are coming hard and heavy every couple of days. It’s making the grass grow and interferes with our ability to mow it. The growth was getting a little out of hand. Along with this grass growing, the hedgerow is creeping incrementally into my mowing space. When it gets to the point that I can’t bend forward and mow under the overhanging branches, it’s time to get out the loppers and do some trimming.

We have thorny things that grow out there. Multiflora rose. Russian olive. I don’t know what all, but they are insidious and grab at your skin and clothes. I cut a pretty thick branch off and when it came down, I grabbed for it and missed. A sharp bit snagged the skin on the back of my hand and tore my skin like paper.

Knock, knock, knock! Anybody home?

I was shocked. The old woman looked down at my hand…holding it gently in her own. 

“There it is.”

“There what is?” I demanded.

She took out a tissue and slid the paper thin triangle of skin back into place and wiped away the blood. She looked deep into my eyes, as if to size me up. Was I going to cry? Was I going to cuss a blue streak? 

“It’s ok. It happens to everyone eventually.” She brushed a wisp of flyaway hair behind my ear, touched the beautiful feather of a red-shouldered hawk I picked up in the field. “They bring you peace, don’t they? The birds.”

“Yes, they do. I won’t mow over one of their feathers if I can help it.” I said, giving her the side eye. I wasn’t exactly thrilled she decided to show up today. 

“You have all this beauty around you. Your birds give you the gift of their feathers. You wear your silver crown well, you know. Are you going to let this little thing with your skin get you down?”

“No. It’s just so…shocking, I guess. I’ve taken care of elderly people with fragile skin since before I turned twenty. I just didn’t expect to see it today…on my hand.”

“Well, don’t worry yourself over it. I’ll be nearby to guide you whenever you need me.” She patted me on the back and turned to walk back into the woods.

I watched her fading into the dense foliage. “Wait! Who ARE you???”

“Don’t you know, love. I’m your Guardian Angel. I’ve been with you all these years. You are quite the assignment!”

Ahhhhh….of course. I’ve known she was there all along. I’m just really glad she met me in the woods on this sunny Sunday and let me know…aging doesn’t have to be bad or scary. It just…is. The first little tear of fragile skin is as much a right of passage as starting your period or getting your heart broken.

It’s ok.

?

“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4:16-18 NIV