Taking Responsibility For Our Faces
“After a certain number of years,” said the writer Cynthia Ozick, “our faces become our biographies. We get to be responsible for our faces.”
A few days ago, shaving, I noticed the beginnings of jowls. My chin was holding its own but on either side near the corners of my mouth, my face was starting to droop. I gave it a little push, let it go, watched it drop. I sighed and finished shaving, all the while missing the face I used to have, the one without proto-jowls.
It soon occurred to me, however, that beneath my longing for a past face was the presumption that some earlier visage was the true me, and that I had been backsliding from it for years. What if, I thought, my ultimate face could only be grown into? What if, in Ozick’s terms, my face was becoming my biography, and I had a responsibility for what it was becoming? In my resistance to change, I had been trying to save face.
How had I forgotten the Psalmist’s heart cry?
You speak in my heart and say, “Seek my face.”
Your face, Lord, will I seek.
Hide not your face from me,
nor turn away from your servant in displeasure.
The purpose of every human life, the Psalmist says, is to seek the face of God. If our faces are the primary expression of our life and identity, if every line and contour, every wrinkle and jowl tell our story, then what must it be like to see God’s? And—audacious as it seems even to say it—when that day comes when we see God face-to-face, what face will we present? God will see through any guile, so the more honest we can become now, the better.
I’m still not happy about the flesh melting along my jawline, but I’m hoping I can let it be. After all, this is the only face I have to present to every person I know. It is the countenance that can shine in blessing or glower in displeasure; it is the semblance that can radiate honestly who I am, grateful for every mark, every line, or it can be merely a mask, a cover to keep others from knowing me fully. And if I can’t present my actual face to others, especially those I am given to love, how do I ever hope to stand in the divine presence and not look away?
Oh David so much wisdom here! I recently had my checkup with the dermatologist who told me I could train myself not to make certain facial expressions so I could avoid the wrinkles…the lines where my furrowed brow shows concern or around my eyes and mouth that shows smiles and laughter. She said she did it and as I looked at her I noticed no wrinkles. No thank you, I thought. That’s not living! Thinking of those lines as part of my story and a reflection of the emotions of my life…I’ll keep them! Your post is a good reminder to see them with gratitude. Thank you!
I have this image of you with your dermatologist, and she showing you her flat-affect face that is wrinkle free and meaning free. “No thanks!” is right.
David, ok finally I am getting your posts ‼️
This is a great one for sure. Reminds me of 2 things:
First, how I seriously love Michael’s face now. I think he is more handsome than the day I married him.
And, reminds me of The Picture of Dorian Gray! Let’s hope as we age we are the opposite of that story!
Thank you for today’s post.
Glad you’re on board, Kay. So many good people feel that way–that they love their spouse’s face now more than all those years ago. Maybe because we’ve participated in the making of that face.
Wonderfull David. Nearly 95 I have grown to accept my face as it is . Especially when I last had a haircut she held up a mirror and I didn’t see me, there was my grandfather my name sake the first Frederick Ferdinand. A dear wonderful Christian man. A gift from God.
Wonderful, Rick—especially the part about looking in the mirror and seeing your grandfather and namesake. Thanks for showing me how someone can live with grace and wisdom in his nineties.
Kay, you beat me to it! I’m reading David’s post thinking THEE exact same thing about you. And then, lo and behold, your comment! I think you’re much more beautiful now than when we first met 52 years ago. Your face has definitely become your biography. And it’s a best-seller. Your face is full of wisdom, tenderness, and kindess. And Joy. May I say, Joy.
I like providing a forum where husbands and wives can engage in mutual admiration!
Isn’t it funny how I don’t really notice the wrinkles on my husband’s face (or on friends’ and sibling’s faces, for that matter), but I can see every line in my own? I wouldn’t trade the wrinkles because I wouldn’t want to trade my life – thanks for the reminder, David.
I think most of us join you there–always more aware of our own lines than those of others we love. Yes, erasing our wrinkles is erasing our lives.
I may not be delighted with my aging face, but this is the way God made me and I am grateful for every day God has given me.Thanks for the reminder that those we love are always beautiful!