Joy A. Mead

Among a scattered Barbie doll camper van party and an Octonauts rescue mission, I was routinely cleaning our front room and trying to tidy up Lego pieces before they became lost to the vacuum cleaner.

As I dusted the picture frames, my glance paused at a framed black-and-white engagement photo of Charlie and me. I sentimentally smiled as my first thought was about how youthful we looked—fresh, young adults with every dream seemingly a possibility and no wrinkles whatsoever!

Thirteen years later and there is no hiding the aging process! The sleep deprivation which comes with having children and the stresses of family life itself have taken their toll. No amount of night cream or oil will be able to fully reverse this mama’s fine lines.

And do you know what? I don’t mind my wrinkles showing, for they each tell a significant story of my life. Every crease is like the annual ring added to the tree’s trunk—growing me into an older, wiser mother with a deeper perspective.

These wrinkles tell a story—a beautifully crafted, shaped in the fire, well-worth-it sort of tale. 

They tell of broken nights nursing my babies, providing cuddles to toddlers who wake with a nightmare, and resting with my not-so-baby-anymore children who still need assurance of love and comfort as they drift off to sleep. 

They tell of late nights wrapping birthday and Christmas presents—annually and strategically nibbling a carrot along with a mince pie to pretend Father Christmas and his reindeer have been here! 

They tell of early mornings setting out the breakfast items, cooking and packing lunches, and praying over the various struggles at school for my daughter and son. 

They tell of the pure exhaustion of trying to be there uniquely for each member of my family, while also learning to look after myself. 

They tell of the vast amount of hours given to storybook reading, prayers, and singing lullabies, and encouraging both children through the tears of losing dear friends who have moved away. 

They tell of all the hardships that come in life—no matter a person’s demographics, background, or circumstances. 

But they tell SO much more than that! Oh, how these wrinkles tell the story of a pure, beautiful, magical, and wonderful love—the deep love God places in a parent’s heart to continuously give to one’s children.

They tell of the delight in our daughter learning to ride her bike after many shed tears and frustration.

They tell of the pride that I had when reading clicked for our son, and he started devouring chapter books and reading aloud.

They tell of the balancing act between keeping busy and slowing down—of raising English children with a hint of American in them.

They tell of an unending bond with our children and an unbreakable faith that God is using us to raise fruitful and holistically healthy adults.

They tell of the hopes and dreams that, whether fulfilled on this side of heaven or not, are safely secure in Jesus and every hardship endured will be worth it one day. 

These wrinkles are proof that I have given and continue to give life all I have to offer—to show up, be present, ready to provide my children with a safe, nurturing environment to call home. 

These wrinkles tell my story—the genuine story of our imperfect lives, rich in receiving God’s love, extending it to our children, and graciously learning to be one of the many jigsaw pieces to fit into the puzzle of God’s kingdom.

These wrinkles I will gladly accept as I learn to embrace the fullness of life—the sorrows, the joys, the losses, and the victories that come to us along life’s journey.