She was old, could barely walk and was supported by her loved ones.
Her scarf was roughly tied and the neck line of her blouse fell off her frail shoulders, showing the pure wrinkles of her dark brown skin.
Her eyes were small and droopy but still held the dying light that once sparkled in them. Her cheeks had sunk into her chin and her jaw protruded.
She was scaringly beautiful.
In her own way she was different, she was unique and she was loved by her daughter who carried her grandchild.
Looking at this woman, I wondered how she looked when she was younger.
The games she loved playing as a child, the first time she learnt how to write, if she ever did learn.
The clothes she wore when she had the time to go shopping, the places she loved to go with her friends… the first time she met her husband.
The tears she shed and laughter she enjoyed.
The people she lost like her husband, those she gained like her daughter and grandson.
The decisions she had made both good and bad.
I wondered about what could be going through her mind. The pain she was feeling at her ankles that could not support her well.
Was she happy?
Did she want to live alittle more or does she want to greet the world good bye and meet her husband ?
One day, if God tarries, we would be that old woman sitting down and someone somewhere will watch us and pounder on these same thoughts.
Live life well.
We all would give account to God of how we lived out lives. Today, ask yourself this question?
How will the account of my life look like?