Beautiful

It's a busy morning, and the baby needs to eat.  I push aside all that needs to be done, and snuggle in bed to nurse my son.  As I start to look at my phone, I catch his big, bright, blue eyes looking up at me.  I pause for a moment, and put the phone down.    I stare at my son, taking in every detail about him and noticing how intently and contentedly he is looking at me, refusing to move his gaze to anything else.  I feel like if I look just a teeny bit harder, and maybe squint a little, I could see tiny hearts flowing out of his eyes.  And I know,

He thinks I'm beautiful.

I have felt everything but beautiful lately.  Scattered, maybe.  Harried, for sure.  A complete and utter failure at the simplest of tasks, every day.  But as I down look at Thomas, in his eyes, I am doing everything right.  He is perfectly calm and content, filling his belly while looking up at his mommy.

His beautiful mommy.

I think about the scale, which has been my enemy lately.  And I think about how every time I try to cut back on what I eat, my milk supply drops like an anchor in a whirlpool.  And I think about how my desire to continue nursing outweighs my desire to look good in a bathing suit this summer, but if only the numbers would just stop going up...

He doesn't care.  He thinks I'm beautiful.

I think about the hair appointment I had to cut short yesterday due to a family emergency.  The gray hairs that require more than just a cut at these appointments.  The wrinkles I'm starting to notice more around my eyes.  The biggest, grossest, most painful pimple on my chin since eleventh grade.  It is painfully obvious to me that I am not 25 anymore. 

He thinks I'm beautiful.

I think about the plans for the day - to prepare for the visitation and funeral of our Mudd, Cline's grandmother.  I wonder what I will wear that looks OK, since none of my clothes fit right now.  I wonder how I will make myself pretty today, and again tomorrow.  Right there, in my son's baby blue eyes, there it is.

He thinks I'm beautiful.
 
I think about the last time I saw Mudd.  She had missed her last few hair appointments, and her hair was straight and un-fixed.  Her makeup was undone.  Her night gown was unfashionable.  I looked at her many wrinkles and aged skin.  I touched her un-toned arm.  I weakly carried on conversation and helped her hold Thomas one last time as her mind and body failed her.  I stared at 85 years of living through unspeakable hardships, with all of life's troubles and imperfections.  85 years of loving horse racing and Georgia football games.  85 years of drinking Diet Coke and eating ice cream while having diabetes.  85 years of raising children and grandchildren, cleaning her house, loving her husband, serving her Savior.  And as I go through this weekend, I watch her legacy, four generations of her family line coming together like few families do to honor Mudd, to support one another, and bring glory to God as we walk into a new reality without her.  Leaning on the faith that she taught her children to find comfort as we begin to miss her.  I walk through her house, finding notes of truth and encouragement - bible verses everywhere.  85 years of a life lived well and grounded in prayer.  And I know she didn't look good in her last days.

She was beautiful.