My Grandmother's Mirror

My grandmother's large hand-held mirror graces the top of my dresser. The mirror, beautifully set in a dark wood of some kind, sits on top of an old, crocheted doily and next to my car keys, abandoned necklace, and some loose change.

I use the mirror almost everyday, especially if I am going out in public. It's my hair I check, not my face. A crazy cowlick on the back of my head plays crazy tricks on me. Back-combing my hair, adding hair spray, and using Grandmother's mirror to see the otherwise unseeable all help make me quite presentable. At least I hope so. But I must be careful with the mirror. Just this morning I almost knocked it onto the floor all because I carelessly left the handle sticking over the dresser's edge; ooopsies are not good.

That mirror fascinated me when I was a child. I loved picking it up from the vanity in the lavender, guest bedroom and looking at myself--braces, glasses, and all. I lifted it very careful because I was just a little girl, and the mirror was Grandmother's large, weighty, magical treasure. After checking out the 'magic' mirror, I would examine the button hook (for buttoning up Grandmother's boots in her youth), her fingernail buffer, and her nail file--all part of a wondrous, ivory handled set. From the lavender, filmy curtains on the windows to the beautiful manicure set and mirror on the vanity, the setting was perfect for this fantasy Cinderella as I prepared for Prince Charming's ball.

This morning was different though. As I moved the mirror away from the edge of the dresser, I happened to glance at my reflected image. I was suddenly struck by how much I resemble my grandmother, and I began to wonder what my grandmother, as a teenager, might have seen when she looked into this very mirror one-hundred years ago. I know she saw a pretty, young, blue eyed girl getting ready for an afternoon cruise with her friends an a Mississippi paddle-wheeler. I think she saw a young bride-to-be preparing to meet her handsome husband-to-be at the altar. Grandmother might even have imagined a some-day daughter holding that mirror as her hair was braided for her first day of school.  But no way did she ever envision her own tear-stained face as she tried to look presentable for her real-life daughter's funeral--eight-years old was too young to die. And, I'm fairly certain she never anticipated seeing the reflected image of a white-haired woman with Alzheimer's disease staring blankly back at her.

Now I am the one looking into Grandmother's mirror and seeing someone I wouldn't have recognized when I got it. Back then I never saw age-spotted hands, white hair, or additional pounds. I didn't see married grandchildren or a husband in prison. I saw only what I chose to see at the moment--the much needed haircut of a busy mom or the happy face of the mother-of-the-bride/groom.

As much as my grandmother's mirror got my mind thinking in half a dozen directions at once, what stood out is this. The only mirror that really matters is the Word of God, and what I see when I look into it?

Mirror, mirror on my lap,
give me strength ere I collapse.

You showed me where I need to prune,
where in my heart I must make room
by weeding out brambles and thorns.
Like a lamb I must be shorn.

Only then will I look like you,
and love and live and listen, too.
Only then will my image be
like the One who created me.

Mirror, mirror on my lap,
may I in your arms be wrapped.

With love,
Jan and Licorice Kitty (who just came in from an outside adventure--I'm afraid to ask)