Holy Botox

As these first real bursts of winter weather have descended upon us so rapidly, I noticed my body going into its hibernation mode. My skin and nails are dry as a bone. Not to mention my lips. I can’t apply enough Chap Stick to give them any relief. Any hint of that kiss of sunshine face has long ago faded. These signs are our bodies’ attempt to convince us to cover up and stay indoors. No one wants to see this.

As I was surveying the damage the other day, I was stopped in my tracks by another sign on my body. This one hit me right between the eyes. Literally.

I have quite the furrowed brow. It’s my badge of honor, or should I say dishonor, for all the many years I have spent worrying, needlessly. I don’t like to think of myself as a worrier but I seem to be giving off that vibe. I’ve had a few people in the last week or so tell me to stop worrying.

At Firstfruits last week we were praying for each other as we ended the Many Faces of Prayer series. One of the participants said that as we were praying for me, she had this vision of Jesus with His hand gently placed on my forehead. Smoothing and soothing my furrowed brow.

I like to think about that. Sounds better than Botox and more permanent.

Fr. Richard Rohr is quoted as saying that what isn’t transformed is transmitted. Since I haven’t yet completely transformed my worry habit, it appears to be transmitting through my thoughts, words, and my forehead.  

I know that if we want to feel lasting peace from whatever it is we struggle with, we need to spend more time in quiet communion with God. The surrender and trust that is the daily treatment we need to apply doesn’t come in a shot or a lotion; it only comes from knowing the God who wants nothing more than for us to know how much we are loved.

As we celebrate Thanksgiving this week, let’s open ourselves up to really see that love in the big and small blessings all around us.

I promise I will try. Once all the family makes it to my mother-in-law’s. It is a two-hour drive and you know there are so many deer darting across the highway.

Hopelessly furrowed,

Joan