Every six or eight weeks (or ten if life has been especially crazy), I head to Wal-Mart or CVS or Walgreens to stand in what I refer to as the “aisle of dreams” where you can buy a little box of magic. I do this because I’m vain. Because I am resisting the inevitable. Because I refuse to accept the reality.

I need that little box with its bottle and tube and gloves. I love the way I get to pick a different one every time I go {mainly because I usually forget which box I purchased the last time}. Lately, I’ve picked up boxes with words like “medium auburn” or, my current favorite, “Parisian Red.” Isn’t that a great name? It makes me feel glamorous. Because let’s face it, my life is most assuredly not glamorous. In fact, my life is really the opposite of glamorous.

But that little box with the beautiful woman on the front, hair styled to perfection, that box makes me think somehow I can step into this other persona, this vibrant, young, carefree, and oh-so-amazing life. The truth is, what’s in that box is chemicals and dyes. Yes, it covers the gray in my hair but it doesn’t make them go away. The gray hair is there, every one of the MANY gray hairs are still there. I’ve just covered them up.

The writer of Proverbs 16 was a man. I know this not only because history attributes all the writings of this book to several different men but also because of this verse:

Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained by living a godly life. {Proverbs 16:31 NLT}

No woman would write that, at least not the first part of that verse. Pretty much every woman I know colors her hair or has at some point. Yes, by the age of 70, most of us have given up the fight. But I’m still in my forties and I’ll go to the mat for the red hair I wasn’t born with.

But the truth is, many of us wish we could get parenting coverage in a box too. How awesome would it be if we could just mix up a few Bible verses and shake them with faithful church attendance and bam! — a godly child. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work like that. Our girls learn how to serve the Lord and live faithfully for Him by watching us.

I’m the mom of a thirteen-year-old girl. I have no idea if the gray hairs on my head are a crown of glory or evidence of survival skills. {Maybe a combination of both?} Each hair hard won through the days of listening to “Knock, Knock” jokes that don’t make sense and the hours of sitting in the lobby at the dance studio while she practices and the quiet moments when the fears and worries come tumbling out of her mouth and all I can do is hug her and remind her He is faithful, even when people are not.

We have this sacred privilege, this holy calling, of mothering girls. We are teaching them the lessons they need — sometimes through our successes and often through our failures. We watch them and we see hints of ourselves. They make us crazy and they make us crazy happy. We cry over them and we cry with them. We invest and we intercede and sometimes we even interfere.

We pour ourselves out. Early in the mornings, we pray for wisdom and grace. In the afternoons, we ask the Lord for patience and strength. By nightfall, we beg for rest and thank Him for fresh starts every morning.

So next time you see that gray hair popping up, uninvited and annoying, stop before you grab the tweezers. Stop and remember, it’s part of your crown of glory! {But it’s okay to go ahead and keep buying the box of glamour.}