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Wrinkle of Time

I don’t always see it, but the wrinkle between my nose and my lip reminds me of my grandmother Mary. She had that wrinkle. You saw it when she smiled. It was visible even when she didn’t, but that didn’t matter because you knew the origin. It was as if her smile was too big for her face, and she refused to dim her light. She refused to contain herself. It’s one of those small things that says so much. About her priorities, her heart, or willingness to be open. So when I see it on me now... I see her. It reminds me of all of those things. All the markers of our hearts. We all have them. They come in all shapes and sizes and colors. May we all cherish the beautiful stories of their origin, and nurture what wisdom they have to offer.




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