Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder

Luky;
Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. To a child, the wrinkled face of a kind servant can seem radiantly beautiful and to a lover the plain features and mousey hair of the beloved may take on a glow of their own. 


When we were teenagers, my sisters and I would bemoan our appearances. My mother would tell us that were being very ungrateful to God, who gave us our health and our strength. "Who wants health and strength?" we'd ask each other when she'd be out of the way. "We want to look like the Gabor sisters."


There wasn't much likelihood of that with a father who'd send you to the bathroom to wash your face each time you applied a little blusher or eyeliner. In later years, I would take my children to school and enviously eye the beautiful faces and figures of the mothers of some of their fellow-pupils. "Wouldn't you be proud if I looked like Mrs. Jones?" I'd ask and, though my children would loyally try to reasure me that this wasn't the case, they never convinced me.


Then one day my eldest son came to the rescue. "Do you think Mrs. Jones is pretty? I don't. She looks like plastic." And when I took another look at the lady we were discussing, I could see what he meant.


When my mother was dying, she got a phobia about wearing her false teeth, so the nurses looking after her stopped putting them in. This horrified some visitors, but to me she still looked nice. Her eyes and her skin were so good and in her features you could still see the traces of her former beauty. After she died, my mentally disabled son once mentioned this to me. He said: "When Oma died and went to Jesus, did He give her all her teeth back?" "I'm sure He did," I said. 
He was quiet for a while, then he replied: "I'm so glad He did. 
Happy woman, your mother!"


*Names have been changed