A couple of weeks ago, I took my 3, 6, and 7 year old girls on a mama-and-me-date. The girls decided they wanted their nails painted. I thought the idea timely since the Reno winters aren’t very nice to mama’s feet (or heels). So, we hopped in my husband’s pick-up truck and off we went.
We finally arrived at the local beauty salon. The pale pink bells strung over the knob began to jingle as we pushed the door open. Immediately, three sets of eyes were hypnotized by the mile long selection of finger-nail polish showcased along the wall.
They chose their version of glittery pinkalicious-ness and headed for the big chairs. Each girl rolled up their jeans, scooted back in a massage chair, and waited to be “bootified.” Scarlett, my three year old, turned to me and said, “Mommy, I ‘yike’ this!” Isn’t it funny how improper English sounds so cute at that age?
I stared at the girls for a moment. Their legs barely dangled over the edge. They shift forward and dip their miniature toes in the white capped waters. I watched as the “nail-polish” lady gently painted the tiny toe-nails that once kicked the inside of my belly.
How did we get here so fast?
It seems like yesterday I bought booties for those same feet and breast pumps for well, you know.
The soapy waters began to crest the outer edges of the soakin’ tub. I found myself wondering if they knew how much they’ve taught me about myself, about the kind of mom I want to be. I wonder if they realized that even though painting nails is fun,
“Beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised,” (Proverbs 31:30 NIV).
31Honor her for all that her hands have done, [not how well manicured her finger-nails are or how smooth her heels feel].
I want them to grow up knowing that honor comes from an inward beauty fueled by radical faith in their heavenly daddy. Honor that comes from how well those hands are serving in the name of Jesus, not how well groomed they might be.
As a parent, it’s my job to teach my baby-girls the way they should go (see Proverbs 22:6). And the way they “should go” is the only way I know….the way of my sweet Jesus.
It’s a way that doesn’t recognize outward beauty, but looks at the heart instead.
We climb back into the pick-up truck and head home. I feel my shirt tug at the sleeve and I peek over to see my three year old gazing up at me. “Momma,” she says intently. “I yike yeer make-up. It goes peeeerfect with yeer nails.”