Recently, my seven-year-old grandson discovered how to FaceTime me on his tablet. And just like that, Mimi became available at all hours of the day and night.

What makes me smile most is this: he is the only person on the planet who gets that close to my face without makeup on and hair done. No warning. No adjusting the lighting. No “give me five minutes.”

He simply calls.

And I answer.

We laugh. We make silly faces. We talk about very important seven-year-old things. Sometimes we sit there and grin at each other.

And in the corner of the screen, I can see myself exactly as he sees me.

Not filtered.

Not polished.

Just…me.

When We Learned to Perform

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned to manage how we are seen.

We fixed our hair before opening the door. We chose our words carefully. We showed the strong parts and quietly tucked away the tender ones. We learned how to appear “put together.”

For years, I didn’t even realize I was doing it. It just felt normal, this quiet striving to be presentable, capable, composed.

But life has a way of gently unraveling performance.

Grief does that.

Aging does that.

Loss does that.

When my husband passed away, there were no filters strong enough to hide my heartache. Widowhood stripped away the illusion of control. I no longer had the energy or the desire to polish every imperfection before being present.

And in this winter season of my life, I find I care less about the lighting and more about the connections.

The Freedom of Being Known

My grandson does not evaluate my wrinkles or notice tired eyes. He delights in the fact that I just showed up. That I listened. That I answered. That I am there.

His joy is not based on how I look, but on the relationship we share.

It makes me wonder how often I forget that this is exactly how God sees me.

Scripture reminds us, “The Lord does not look at the things people look at…People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” I Samuel 16:7