Ode to Victoria


I’m not a Victoria Secrets model
I don’t wear my undergarments out
For the world to see with
Perky breasts and a flat, scarless tummy.

I’m not the perfect specimen of
Flawless beauty on television or
In a magazine-air brushed to the nines
And looking serene with a smoky eye and pouty lips.

I am a woman, though often a child inside
Full of insecurities, moles, marks
And scars from a life fully lived
Sixty-two years in the making.

I shall look upon this body, this outer shell
To the inward soul, with a perfect heart
That loves myself and cherishes each flaw
And thanks my creator for making me so.

I’m tired of not feeling enough, of judging myself and never winning.  How can I compete with what the world considers to be beautiful?  That kind of competition insures that I am never 1st, and quite often last.

I am content to be where I am although not complacent as in giving up.  I am grateful for what I have been given and I will encourage others to do the same.  Victoria has nothing on us!021


My Hands

Sometimes I look at my hands and gasp, “oh my gosh…these are my Grandma’s hands, how can that be?” I lament that they are veiny, wrinkled and crooked.  Oh the agony of age spots, the gnarly knuckles of arthritis….why hast thou forsaken me?? I try more lotion, different lotion, wear gloves more often and hide them whenever possible.  That is….I used to.

I had a realization, not long ago, that my hands have character and distinction, even beauty . They tell a sweet story that hasn’t always had happy endings. They are an outward sign of an inward soul and a life well lived.

These hands have held babies and swaddled them with love and tenderness. These hands have prepared nourishing meals and sliced apples to share with grandchildren. These fingers have held a needle and thread to sew on a button or mend a sock. They’ve also held a face and wiped a tear to mend a broken heart.  These hands have graded papers, pointed the way, applauded and prayed.

My hands tell their own story of life and love and the more I realize that, the more in awe I am.   I’m proud to have these hands that remind me of my Grandma.  I’m thankful for these hands that say I’ve lived my life.   I’m amazed at all the opportunities I’ve had to touch others and I am deeply grateful for the hands that have held mine along the way.