Things are changing within me.

I am over fifty and no longer fear my fertility. I know not everyone fears fertility, but I did. In hindsight, I dreaded the long darkness of postpartum depression that followed every pregnancy. Yes, I love all the souls God sent to me, but there was still a lot of fear.

I was at my mother-in-law’s house recently and saw old photos of myself. I was just twenty-one when I said “yes” on a path down to the beach in Michigan, over three decades ago. I had no makeup on, just a plaid flannel shirt, mom jeans, and a frizzy ponytail, before beachy hair was in. Someone took a photo of me and my betrothed. He is young, clean-shaven, unable to grow a mustache. I look so naive and unkempt—like a wide-eyed fool. We sit on an old sofa with a paneled wall as the background. You can barely see my modest ring. My nails are naked of polish. We are beaming huge, goofy smiles.

It is the opposite of the engagement photos of my children. No manicure, no paid professional photographer, no curated outfits at the golden hour. But I am old enough now to see what matters. We were in love. We are in love. My modest ring has bound me to a wonderful man, who is now unrecognizable in his beardedness.

I used to cringe when I saw that photo. If only I had brushed my hair, or put on mascara, or weighed a little less. I don’t have those thoughts anymore. I walked all around my mother-in law’s house finding photos of me everywhere. I was thinner and younger, but I wasn’t happier. I never liked any photos of myself until now. Now, I love them all. I love that younger version of myself, and I wish I could tell her she was beautiful. I would tell her that following God’s plan, though terrifying at times, is endlessly rewarding. That her cup of blessings will overflow. I knew this girl, though. She didn’t take advice well, or ever. She had to live through really hard things to learn amazing lessons of trust, surrender, and mercy.

I don’t mind having my picture taken anymore. I have known and loved enough souls that are no longer here to recognize the value of photos. I want to be remembered as smiling big goofy smiles. I see the wrinkles and changes in my face, and I am trying not to see them as flaws. I am trying to discern what it is to “age gracefully,” and to embrace my changing body as the blessing that gave me a family. I know now that every time I have my picture taken, I will be older in the next one.

I’m also shunning trends. I’m buying poetry books in hardcover, and actually reading them. I know what I like, and I’ll stick to it. Aging can be so much fun! I’m not afraid to wear red lipstick or dance in the grocery store. With age comes a definite lack of embarrassment. My apologies for all the lipstick on my grandbabies.

I always thought my grandmothers were beautiful, with their veiny hands and snow white hair. It is a beauty not recognized by the world. But I’m old enough to not care about the world so much, wide-eyed, naive fool that I am. I’ve lived long enough to know that he has overcome this crazy, beautiful world that he made and we broke. Perhaps for the first time ever, in my fifty plus years of life, I am content with my place in it.