Wabi-Sabi Hearts

This is borrowed with permission from a friend who I consider a wise man whose person is to be admired.  Thanks Scott for your sharing.

The next few weeks will be extensions of others, easy inspiring reads.

Wabi-Sabi Hearts

We spend our youth trying to outrun time, polishing every rough edge, afraid that love belongs only to the unbroken.

Then the seasons begin their quiet work.

Silver gathers in our hair like moonlight settling on a still river. The hands that once reached with certainty learn instead to hold with tenderness.

Love changes too.

It no longer shouts across crowded rooms. It becomes the warm cup waiting on the table, the blanket placed over sleeping shoulders, the silence that no longer needs to be filled.

Perhaps this is what the old gardens have always been trying to teach us.

The moss does not apologize for covering the stone. The weathered gate does not mourn the fading of its paint. Everything bows to time, and in the bowing becomes more beautiful.

Beloved, do not fear the lines around your eyes. They are rivers where laughter has returned home.

Do not hide the softness of your step. Even the ancient oak moves more slowly than the sapling, yet offers deeper shade.

Love was never asking us to remain young.

It was asking us to remain open.

To let every joy, every sorrow, every goodbye, every sunrise, leave its gentle fingerprint upon the heart.

And one day, when our hands have become maps of all the lives we’ve touched, we will discover that age was never stealing our beauty.

It was revealing it.

For the soul has always loved like an old ceramic bowl, its tiny cracks holding more light than flawless porcelain ever could.

So come, sit beside me.

Let us grow old the way autumn becomes a forest, without resistance, without regret, trusting that every falling leaf is another way love learns to touch the earth.

Thanks Scott for your sharing