Looking for Lovely: Collecting Moments that Matter by Downs Annie F

Author:Downs, Annie F. [Downs, Annie F.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Religion/Christian Life/Spiritual Growth
Publisher: B&H Publishing Group
Published: 2016-03-22T16:00:00+00:00

Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as elaborate hairstyles and the wearing of gold jewelry or fine clothes. Rather, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is of great worth in God’s sight.

—1 Peter 3:3–4 niv

My hands don’t look like kid hands anymore. They don’t look bad or weird or ugly; they just don’t look young anymore. Getting older is a weird thing. In a Western culture that teaches that beauty is found in youth, the process of slowly seeing that fade away is interesting and different from what I would have predicted.

Jordan was with me when I found my first gray hair. It was while I was working at the Mocha Club and she was working at FASHIONABLE, and the two companies shared an office. I passed by a mirror and noticed an off-colored hair sticking up from the part at the crown of my head. I grabbed it, held on to it, and ran out to her, sitting at a table surrounded by colorful scarves.

“JORDAN, WHAT IS THIS.”

It was more a statement in panic than a question. Jordan, seven or so years younger than me, changed her face from shock to sympathy. And I knew.

“I think it’s a gray hair, Annie.”

Yes. Yes it was. I plucked that puppy out and swore I would continue to rid my head of these. I would not give up the fight to maintain my mousey brown coif. It was merely a matter of months before they multiplied like rabbits, and suddenly the decision to pluck them was going to contribute to a possible balding problem. So now they sit, atop my head, declaring to the world that I am no longer the teen I once was.

Except when it comes to my fingernails. While my hands most assuredly look like the hands of a mid-thirty-year-old woman, my fingernails are painted with all the accoutrements of your average seventeen-year-old gal.

I see my hands a lot. It’s a part of the job, the fact that I type all day every day. So my hands sit right here, in front of my face. A neon yellow is my current nail polish color of choice. I find the bright colors to be my favorite, even though they can be mildly (or mostly) distracting. Each of my ring fingers is painted with the neon yellow and silver glitter on top. Yes, I am channeling my inner ’80s child this week. But I like seeing the brightness and the sparkle dance across my keyboard as I type. It speaks of deeper things to me. An outward sign of a healthy heart.

I have been a nail-biter most of my life. As an elementary-age student, I bit and picked at my nails until they bled. I bit my nails when I was nervous. I bit my nails when I was bored. I bit my nails when I was sad, lonely, busy, scared. It really didn’t matter. I

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