"Patina"... Beautiful Patina

I suppose I should start this post by telling you it is somewhat connected to a post from a couple of weeks ago... the one about my turning sixty. There is no gloom and doom here however... not a smidge. Here we discuss only beauty and the glorious blossoming of "patina."

I have long been a fan of old things... old houses, antique furniture, wavy glass, crazed dishes. I love them not just because of their craftsmanship, but also because of the stories they have to tell. Behind every little crack, every spot worn soft as butter, there is a history. A history of being loved and used and valued despite the imperfections that come with age. Threadbare quilts were mended, not thrown away. Holes in the floor were patched with tin. These are the tales of utility and frugality and making it through tough times. These are the things to me that speak of beauty.

Our old house on Abiso was built in 1923. It had weighted, double-hung windows with wavy glass, nine-and-a-half foot tall ceilings, and pine floors that ran its length. One of the things I loved most about those softwood floors was the "life" they had written across them... especially in the dining room. We, as a family of six, used that room for all our meals as well as for our home schooling. There is no telling how many times a day chairs were scooted in and out around that table. We worked there. We celebrated there. We were sustained there. All the little scrapes and dings gave testimony to the fact that this room was the hub and heart of our home.

The wear didn't detract from the beauty... it only added to it.

I have such a fascination with old things that I have been known to rescue them from the side of the road when they've been set out to the trash. Lots of the things I stop for have been broken or have missing parts. That does not deter me. A chandelier with a few missing lead crystals often needs only to have replacements and some new wiring to be as lovely and useful as it once was. Chairs with turned legs, vanities with swivel mirrors might need a little wood glue and pressing, but they are worth the effort, for things of their quality and era are no longer being made. Our new little casita (which, incidentally, is also old) prohibits me from keeping these treasures myself, so I pass them along to friends and neighbors who are happy to get them.

I think our culture sometimes puts too much emphasis -and value- on the new, the young, the sparkly. As I was cleaning the bathroom mirror the other day, the sun was shining just so into the room. I stopped for a moment and looked at my reflection, highlighted in all its unadorned reality. Fine lines around my eyes and mouth now accompany the deeper crinkles of a furrowed brow. I'm aging, yes, but I prefer to think of myself as gaining a lovely "patina."

Patina is something that can only be had in its truest form by time and use. Many try to replicate its beauty by fast-forwarding the aging process, but the results are never quite the same. Natural patina is something greatly admired in the decorating world and often comes with a hefty price tag. Wood touched so often by hands that it is worn to a sheen, mirrors losing their foil backing, tarnished metal with the softest luster, these describe patina beautifully, and beautiful it is.

Just as furniture gains patina and beauty as it ages, so do people. The little lines, the wrinkles... even the scars bear witness to a life that's been lived through joys and sorrows, triumphs and tragedies, laughter and tears. We wear across our faces the pages of our days. Without saying a word, our stories are told.

Those fine lines around my eyes and mouth? They have been cultivated by years of smiling and laughter. They tell the story of a person who is joyful, who loves being silly and laughing with unbridled enthusiasm. Those crinkled furrows of my brow? Well, for one, they say I need new glasses, but they also tell of all the times I have been in sincere and fervent prayer to the Lord for the needs of my family or my friends. My scars... hey, they attest to the times God got me through one difficulty or another, and they also talk of His provision and protection for one of my children too fragile to be born in the usual fashion.

The lines, the wrinkles... don't detract from the beauty. They add the element of "patina," that can only be achieved through time living and working and caring for families, and fixing meals, and rocking babies, and weeding garden beds, and ministering to those in need, and on and on and on....

Many times I've heard someone say of a beautiful, older woman, "She must have been absolutely gorgeous when she was younger." I can see what they're saying, and I don't totally disagree, but there is a great deal of difference between being pretty and being beautiful. The one focuses only on the external and is often considered to be lost as it ages. The other focuses on the internal and has the potential of growing exponentially as the years pass.

As a Christian and a Lutheran, we say that the Holy Spirit is working on us to make us holy. We are works in progress. We will never be perfect this side of heaven, but we are being tended to, cultivated, and molded daily into His image. It takes time for the Master to knock off the rough edges of selfishness, pride, jealousy. It takes time for the real beauty to appear. The longer we are in relationship with Him, the more He has touched our lives and our hearts... the more beautiful the patina.

That kind of beauty has nothing to do with outward appearance. Here the mirror is turned on our hearts.

Any beauty I may possess comes only from the God who made me, who fashioned me in perfection, who wept when sin broke me, who sent His Son to repair me, and who leaves the Spirit with me to help me become more like Him. Sin left me crazed and broken, but my Father still saw worth in me. I have a history. Yes, it is written all over me, but it is a history that tells of the love and value placed on me... even in my imperfection.

... and through my imperfections, I bear His mark, the price it took to rescue me... the price of a beautiful patina.