THE GENE MIRROR

I’m not sure what prompted the writer of this little ditty.

I think it’s saying that our parents’ traits (and physical characteristics) show up more as we age. Or, as another wag put it, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the oak tree. I’ll never know how my mother would have looked at my age now. It’s been 41 years since cancer took her at age 59. I do remember her early-crinkly skin—she blamed it on being Norwegian. Chemotherapy messed with her hair cells so much I’ll never know how natural gray would have come.

We both suffered broken ankles (as did my sister), so have a well-earned limp. Her cooking style included “frugal smorgasbord”—using the Norwegian feast word to dress up a menu of refrigerator leftovers. I’ve been known to similarly plan a menu by checking out what’s hiding in plastic containers in the frig. She hardly met a piece of fabric she didn’t want to create something out of. Well, I enjoy making something useful out of scraps, but don’t have the room to stockpile “projects” as she did. (Her sewing workroom/storage was my old 10x10 bedroom—so full it became a yard sale of itself after her death.)

Thoughts of her “at rest” bring up her relaxing in her mustard yellow rocker (oh, such an ugly color) with her “letters box” in her lap.  This was a clipboard with a storage compartment underneath for her stationery and stamps.  She wrote hundreds of letters back in those pre-computer days to keep her eight siblings connected. I have sticky notes near my computer to remind me to drop a note (by mail or e-mail) to someone who comes to mind, especially to bring encouragement.  Even in this era of cryptic, quickie E-notes, there’s something to treasure in a real letter. It seems warmer.

WRINKLES
I’ve come to the stage of life where the title of a Madeline L’Engle book describes my face: “A Wrinkle in Time.” I never slathered it with pricey skin creams; maybe I should have. But then I recall Mother's excuse of having the Norske genes for wrinkles. 

I’ve heard it said that our faces are mirrors to our soul. I’m not sure what people think when they see me. I hope they look past the aging imperfections to my heart. I’m proud of my children, who grew up with quality friends, excelled in high school and college, and now are married with children, responsible employment, still-quality friends, and—most important—a faith in Christ they “own.” I think of Proverbs 15:20: “A wise son brings joy to his father, but a foolish man despises his mother.”  I’ve seen the second happen, and it is very sad.  Then there’s Proverbs 23:22: “Listen to your father, who gave you life, and do not despise your mother when she is old.” During the time Solomon penned these proverbs, women were not respected. Their role was to bear children and keep the household going. I’m glad Solomon paused to encourage respect and honor to mothers.

More than we probably realize, we imitate our parents. If they are, or were, good people, it is a high calling. If they lacked in principle or honor, it’s even more imperative that we seek to change the image of our past. Or, to put it another way, to look into God's mirror, with the perfect image of His Son as our Example, and say, "In my spirit and character, I want to look more and more like Jesus." 

Can't go wrong with that!