Wrinkles

I was ironing sheets at 8 am.

This is not what I want to do, especially on one of those rare glorious Scottish mornings. The sun is out; the air is still. The broom is blooming bright and yellow-gold; the birds are trilling their praise to God. 

That’s what happens when you start a B&B. You suddenly find you are ironing sheets. So, faced with a task I dislike, I asked God to tell me something through the ironing of the sheets. And what do you know? He did.

The first one I ironed had lain crumpled in the bottom of the basket for four days or so, jumbled in there in the rush of other chores and left to really let those wrinkles go deep. 

No matter how many times I steamed my way across its expanse, I could still see the signs of wrinkles, though the lumpiness of it all had gone. 

The next sheet was of a different material. Probably a bit of polyester in there and not pure cotton, because although it was wrinkled, the wrinkles easily disappeared with one whoosh of the hot iron.

If people were like sheets – not that people are that flat and uncomplicated – some would have their wrinkles deeply imbedded in their psyches. Wrinkles imposed on them through being left at the bottom of the basket. Wrinkles which developed because of the material from which they were made – difficult childhoods or life experiences, family history, genes. Wrinkles which can be smoothed by some outward help but still retain the telltale veins of hurts and injustices. Wrinkles which only God can erase.

Others would be more easily smoothed. Less traumatic experiences, a different gene pool, an easier road to walk means that even when they do get lined and wrinkled, a little restorative time being refreshed through a holiday or a spa, a good book or a time of prayer can make those lines disappear.

I don’t think I can take this analogy any further than that! But I will end on the firm belief that our God is a faithful Father, who loves each of his children and knows the source of the wrinkles in each of our lives. He was with us when each wrinkle was imposed. His gentle hands are the only ones with the power to smooth out those wrinkles so that they no longer disturb and hurt. His loving hands long to heal, to go deep in refreshing and restoring bruised and wrinkled people. 

To bring this analogy full circle, though, and end on a smile, I think that the wrinkles etched on an old person’s face tell a story which only God can read. He knows why each wrinkle formed and I can imagine the love in his eyes as he gazes on such an eloquent face. 

I love the wrinkles on the faces of the elderly. I’m not so keen on them on my face, though! 

OK, four more sheets to go. I promise I won’t try to draw a message from them again!