“Beauty is truth’s smile when she beholds her own face in a perfect mirror.”

– Rabindranath Tagore

Hey, friend: I want to talk about your face. That’s right—your face, and what’s nice about it.

But first, let’s talk about cheese.

My theory is that the obligatory camera time cliché “cheese” originated from the fact that that is exactly what those Velveeta-smooth smiles seem to portray: cheese—as in unnatural, forced, cheesiness—like the kind that graces your face when your two-year-old tries to feed you pizza.

Even though I looked it up and this theory is not actually correct, I like it and am sticking to it.

A fact that does hold true, however, is that your brain and body have the ability to actually tell whether a smile is real or fake; and only a real one—I’m thinking Wisconsin aged sharp cheddar here—endows us with its stress-reducing, happiness-spreading, brain-changing benefits. (If you don’t believe me, check out articles like this one.)

But back to your face– amidst the chaos of kid-rearing, husband-helping, or job-performing, did you notice your smile today? If not, take a moment to do so. Because it’s the prettiest part about you. The real one, that is.

The one that emerged because instead of being glued to your iPhone, you were stuck on the sparkle in your child’s eyes.

The one that took shape not after lip-shaping and applying a few layers of makeup, but rather when your husband slapped your booty then said you were beautiful with a wink.

The one that materialized not from pride in a killer selfie, but from the satisfaction of having done something selfless.

The one that grew into a guffaw when your toddler tooted, then blamed it on her dad.

The one that came about because instead of pretending to be happy around someone, you were happy to be real.

The one that surfaced when you caught your kid being kind instead of mischievous.

The one that swelled from the depths of your soul when you remembered that despite all your inadequacies, you are loved by your Creator.

“A glad heart makes a cheerful countenance.” – Proverbs 15:13

And now, a moment of silence for all the faces that fell and smiles that died today.

Maybe it was your own radiant beam that faded after a bout with disappointment—disappointment in your spouse, your children, your friend. In yourself, for being a joy-killer; or in life, for killing your joy.

My smile died with my grandpa today.

So why in the world am I on this soapbox, stumping for more smiling? Because my grandpa’s dying has me thinking about living. And smiling is how I’m going to cope.

I’m going to smile at the memories of eating ice cream with my gramp: how he always got an entire gallon of the chocolate almond to go, how he’d make me laugh by wiggling his nose, and how he would answer any of us grandkids that complained about any non-life-threatening issue with, “Oh, yeah? That’s nothing compared to living in a muddy wartime foxhole for a week, so suffer!”

Most importantly, I’m going to smile because my grandpa had the hope of Heaven. If he happens to peek down at me from up there, I want to meet his heavenly gaze with something better than a scowl.

After all, the seasons of sadness or disappointment my face often betrays are just that—seasons: temporary periods that give way to change sooner or later. And something that lives right under my nose will never be out of reach.

If during life’s summers we stockpile sweet memories and sunshine in our heart, perhaps we can tap into its stores and still find a reason to stretch our lips upward when life gets wintry. If we continually nourish our soul with the goodness that comes from ingesting truth and feeding kindness to others, perhaps we can resurrect our joy from the inside out.

Because we need to.

Our smile makes our children smile. It’s what makes us, our homes, our earth a more beautiful place. And, without knowing the dimensions of one’s grief, it’s something that we can share as a symbol of hope.

Now please excuse me while I clean up my act, wipe the tears and cheese from my face, and give the world a grandpa-sized grin. I think it would make him proud.

“Before you put on a frown, make absolutely sure there are no smiles available.” – Jim Beggs

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Check out our new Keepsake Companion Journal that pairs with our So God Made a Mother book!

Order Now
So God Made a Mother's Story Keepsake Journal

Leann Clarke

Leann Clarke is an outdoor-loving mama who enjoys riding horses, dancing, soaking in a good book, and hunting with her husband. She’s also mom to two active kiddos who excel at keeping her humble. She believes strongly in prayer, laughter, and eating chocolate for breakfast. Leann shares snippets of her life in Montana and more on her blog, The Hunting Mom.

 
 

My Daddy Is In the Arms of Jesus

In: Grief, Loss
Grown daughter walking with older father

My daddy went home to the arms of Jesus just a few short days before Christmas. My family was given the greatest gift of time with him individually to speak the words they needed him to hear and to listen to the words he wanted to say. It was a gift we are beyond grateful for because we know not everyone has that time with their loved ones before they go, especially now. So, yes, I am grateful, but I miss him. I awoke this morning with a dance happening in my heart. The dance of grief and joy. I...

Keep Reading

Even Though You Left Too Soon, You Gave Me Hope

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Early sonogram image

This was the fifth time I’d seen those two pink lines letting me know that a baby was on the way, but I only had one child to show for it, so I’d learned to damper my happiness and excitement. Each miscarriage brought its own unique flavor—one was marked by anxiety, another anger, deep sadness, and then apathy. I’d learned not to get too close to a pregnancy, but this time I leaned into it in a way I hadn’t before. There was a tender and growing elation, and I felt immediate love and gratitude. Sure, there was no telling...

Keep Reading

We Picked up Our Daughter’s Ashes Yesterday

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Mother holding decorative urn in baby's room, color photo

We picked up her ashes yesterday . . . our daughter’s ashes. Though the funeral home was only about an hour away, the trip felt like an eternity. I stared blankly out the window for most of the drive, somewhat calmed by the cocktail of medications I had been placed on and was brought back to reality only by the occasional pain searing through my abdomen. When we arrived, the parking lot was completely empty. Snow lined the edges of the lot, and the sun shone all too brightly. We had assumed the funeral director would be there to greet...

Keep Reading

The Hardest Prayer I Ever Prayed

In: Cancer, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Bald-headed little girl in hospital bed with her mama, color photo

Trigger warning: Child loss I had a plan for summertime fun with my children. We had just returned from a week-long road trip to the Grand Canyon. I intentionally planned to fill the rest of the summer with activities that would chase away boredom. Craft supplies had been purchased, day trips had been planned, and we were just beginning a week of Vacation Bible School. Excitement was in the air! Yet a tiny nagging fear kept resurfacing: Was there something wrong with my 2-year-old? Ever since she turned two back in the fall, she had become fussy. Our healthy, happy...

Keep Reading

My Mom Passed away and I Don’t Know Who I Am Anymore

In: Grief, Loss
Mother and daughter on a carousel ride, older color photo

For the last sixteen months of her life, I was one of my mother’s primary caregivers, and now that she’s gone, I feel lost. My beautiful, strong, hilarious, and fun-loving mom not only survived but thrived after a heart attack and open-heart surgery at age 67. So 10 years later, we were all surprised to learn that the aortic aneurysm with which she had lived for over a decade had expanded to dangerous territory. We were told she would soon die without another risky open-heart surgery. The one thing my mother feared more than going into surgery was death. Her...

Keep Reading

Dear Dad, I Pray for Our Healing

In: Faith, Grief, Grown Children
Back shot of woman on bench alone

You are on my mind today. But that’s not unusual. It’s crazy how after 13 years, it doesn’t feel that long since I last saw you. It’s also crazy that I spend far less time thinking about that final day and how awful it was and spend the majority of the time replaying the good memories from all the years before it. But even in the comfort of remembering, I know I made the right decision. Even now, 13 years later, the mix of happy times with the most confusing and painful moments leaves me grasping for answers I have...

Keep Reading

It’s So Hard to Say Goodbye

In: Grief, Living, Loss
Small dog with head hanging out car window, color photo

Our dog Carlos has slowed down considerably within the last few months. He’s always been outspoken and opinionated–a typical firstborn trait–and to hear him snoring most of the day and tolerating things he normally wouldn’t tolerate (i.e. being carried from place to place by my son, forklift-style) put me on notice that he’s in the fourth quarter. Carlos looks and acts like an Ewok from the Star Wars franchise. According to Wikipedia, Ewoks are clever, inquisitive, and inventive. Carlos checks all three boxes. As a puppy, we tried crate training, but it never took. It wasn’t for lack of trying....

Keep Reading

You’ve been Gone a Year, So Why Does It Feel Like Yesterday?

In: Grief, Loss
Old photo of mother hugging her young daughter, color photo

In February, you will have been gone a year. How is that right? It was just yesterday. I still remember the day we got the diagnosis. One I knew was coming but still prayed wasn’t true. I still remember promising you that everything was going to be okay, and knowing that it wasn’t. I still remember the first time I saw you and thought to myself, “The dementia is moving too fast.” It was just yesterday. I still feel your hand in mine as I sat next to you in the hospital bed. You were talking and humming along while...

Keep Reading

God Redeemed the Broken Parts of My Infertility Story

In: Faith, Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Two young children walking on a path near a pond, color photo

It was a Wednesday morning when I sat around a table with a group of mamas I had just recently met. My youngest daughter slept her morning nap in a carrier across my chest. Those of us in the group who held floppy babies swayed back and forth. The others had children in childcare or enrolled in preschool down the road. We were there to chat, learn, grow, and laugh. We were all mamas. But we were not all the same. I didn’t know one of the mom’s names, but I knew I wanted to get to know her because she...

Keep Reading

Growing Slowly around the Grief of Losing Your Mom

In: Grief, Loss
Sad woman sitting on couch with folded arms

Everyone has heard about the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Society often assumes the stages of grief happen in order, but those who encounter grief know that’s not true. Undergoing grief can feel like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded—disorienting and chaotic. There are numerous ups, downs, and twists you wouldn’t anticipate. Grief is like an ocean. When waves come crashing, it feels like you’re being swept away. Regardless of their size, waves are always rough. Despite everything, you also get pushed forward to the shore after every wave. Sometimes, you may feel like you are drowning...

Keep Reading