I am thankful for my mother's brown eyes.
I can remember where I sat when he said it. "You're so plain with your brown eyes and your brown hair..." It was so condescending. So belittling. So mean. And for a while I believed him, even though he chose to pursue and date that plain young woman.
Thankfully, I matured, got rid of the guy that said those words to me, and learned to appreciate my deep brown eyes and brown hair.
When I gave birth to my own little girl, I was so pleased to see the same deep brown eyes my mother passed down to me. Dark, rich brown. So dark that they're almost black. Full of life and light despite the darkness of their color. I started saying to Madalyn at a very early age, "Where did you get those pretty brown eyes?" And she would say, "You." And then I ask, "Where did I get mine?" She always answers, "Gammie." We still do this little game at least once a week, and she loves it just as much today as she did when she was a little bitty thing.
It's something so simple. Something that to some may seem so plain. Brown eyes. But there's something so dear in sharing that trait with my mother. In passing it on to my daughter. In knowing that in all the many ways my DNA could have gone, God allowed them to work in this way so that when I look in the mirror or in the eyes of my daughter, I see my mother's eyes.
Hers were deep and dark and contained so much behind them. Wisdom. Concern. Love. Honesty. I could trust them. I could look into them with no fear of judgement. She hid nothing behind her eyes, and she never expected me to do any hiding either.
Today, I am thankful for my mother's brown eyes.