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The Mirror, Christina Montoya

Updated: Oct 6



What do you see when you look in the mirror? If I had to answer that question today, my answer would be very different than other times during my life. But as of late, I see an older version of a once timid little girl that has blossomed into an intricately crafted piece of art. The type of art that one would assume was inspired by something greater than the actual piece itself. There have been a few occasions lately that I suddenly became aware that I was in fact aging, as evidenced by fine lines, wrinkles, and silver hair. Each telling their own story.

I wonder if mirrors could speak, what they would say. Would they share the same perspective we had of ourselves? Perhaps they would talk back to us, convincing us to believe more deeply in ourselves, in our dreams.

When I allow my hair to grow past the point of no chemicals, which is not past the point of no return, I realize that I have earned each one of those strands. So, I wear them as a badge of honor, something I’ve rightfully earned; only for a moment though. And just as God knows the exact number of strands on our heads, he knows every other detail of our lives that as some point we will have to face. A mirror simply serves as the segue to deeper reflection, reflection beyond the capabilities of any mirror.

Perhaps you see a vision when you look in the mirror, a purpose for living. Perhaps you can see your future, your children and their children. Perhaps you see your past.

Perhaps you look at your reflection and wonder who you will become or question why you’ve become the person you now see. Perhaps when you look in the mirror, you’re forced to deal with your true self.

Growing up, I never imagined the reality that a piece of my soul would eventually succumb to. I am somehow painfully forced to face these realizations because when I look in the mirror, I see my father, I see my mother. I see the two people who unintentionally birthed me into existence.

After years of unrest as it related t


o my relationship with my parents, I learned to forgive them. I forgive them for not ever really loving me the way parents should or failing to show me that they eventually embraced their mistake. I forgive their sins as I now realize that I was birthed into existence by something greater, a pre-written story, a story that others only played a role in.

As the legendary writer Khalil Gibran beautifully writes

Your children are not your children

They are sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself

They come though you but not from you

And they are with you, yet they belong not to you

I never belonged to them anyway.

In essence, they were vessels, instruments used to help craft a piece of intricate art.

Mirrors can encourage dual reflection, and since they say beauty comes from within, I finally see my inner and outer being in all their interconnectedness. They finally collided like the stars in the sky. The mirror reminds me of what I’ve endured, what I’ve overcome and who’ve I’ve become.

As I now look into the mirror, I see purpose-filled eyes, a reason for being. And even if I wasn’t purposed to be put on this earth, God has repurposed me, and he uses the mirror to remind me daily that I am loved way beyond the stars.


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