48 Through My Eyes


My Next Thirty Years by Tim McGraw keeps circling in my mind as I think about you.

48 nudges you closer to the top of “the hill”. Society hates that, don’t they? Humans scorn wrinkles and sagging skin. That’s not beautiful. You’re not beautiful.

Hogwash. You are the loveliest lady I know.

You are strong. Memories of you pinning me (playfully?) to the ground after I dished out a little too much sass prove your strength. Your ability to defend our family  in the mist of every heartbreaking situation. The transparent stories you share  of your past mistakes even though you’d rather forget the hurt, make you strong.

Your friendships span decades and these people adore you as much as you love them (that’s a whole lot). You love my dad with a fierce loyalty that most people never get to witness in a marriage, let alone have in their own marriage. Even at my worst, you listen to me and strive to love me and understand. You are loyal.

Selfless. Never has a word fit a human as well as selfless fits you. Never first, never upset by it.

I read an article focused on that age old saying “what would Jesus do” the other day. Make no mistake, Jesus would do what you do in my life. You sacrifice your happiness for my happiness. You find joy in my desires, my successes, my learning, my accomplishments. You look at me as though I am good and precious and so loved. Just like Jesus.

More than anything, Mama, you suffer for me. To bring me into this world, yes you suffered, but that was simply the tip top. When I ache -from fatigue, from stress, from broken relationships- you choose to grieve with me. You choose to feel my pain deeply time and time again. And I know you pray while you suffer alongside me, asking God if you can take all the hurt from me, carry the burden for me. Just like Jesus.

So hogwash. The world is wrong. Age is not ugly. Age is a delight.

Through my eyes, 48 is grace and wisdom. It is beauty that encircles your very soul and radiates through your laugh and your love. 48 is a blessing, the mark of another year in my memory book that includes my best friend and biggest fan. I’m so thankful for 48, Mama. As you enter your next 30 years, I hope they are the best years of your life.


My next 30 years I’m gonna settle all the scores.

Cry a little less, laugh a little more.

Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear.

Figure out just what I’m doing here, in my next thirty years.  

Happy Birthday, Mama!

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