I have had wrinkles on my forehead and my smile line since I was

Hear the words of Faith Hill, singer of deep soul and timeless grace: “I have had wrinkles on my forehead and my smile line since I was a kid. I see them in my own kids. I know what they're going to look like. So it's kind of like that's my personality. I feel the older you get, too, the more confident you become just in your own skin.” Though spoken in the language of the everyday, these words carry the weight of ancient wisdom: that beauty is not the absence of lines, but the presence of truth; that identity is etched not only in soul but in flesh; and that aging, rather than diminishing us, can root us more deeply in confidence.

The wrinkles upon the brow and the smile line upon the face are often feared in our age, where youth is idolized. Yet Faith Hill declares them to be not blemishes, but markers of self—signatures of a lived life. They are not merely folds of skin, but the record of laughter, of worry, of years endured and joys embraced. They tell a story far more profound than smoothness ever could. Thus she reminds us that what many call imperfection may in truth be the truest mirror of the personality.

And she sees these marks also in her kids, knowing the faces they will grow into. This is an ancient truth: that the body carries lineage, that in the faces of children we glimpse both the past and the future. The Greeks carved their heroes in marble to preserve their features, but the living inheritance is passed from parent to child, written not only in bone but in expression. Hill’s joy in recognizing herself in her children is the joy of continuity, the assurance that the story of one’s being flows onward like a river into new generations.

The ancients often revered age for this reason. In many cultures, the wrinkles of elders were regarded as marks of wisdom, proof that life had tested and tempered them. The Hebrew scriptures speak of “the hoary head” as a crown of glory. In Japan, the deep smile lines of elders are honored as signs of warmth and generosity. Faith Hill joins this tradition, teaching that with years comes not only change in appearance, but a deepening of confidence—a freedom to inhabit one’s own skin without shame.

Consider Eleanor Roosevelt, who as a young woman was often called plain, even ridiculed for her appearance. Yet as she grew older, her countenance became radiant, not because it conformed to worldly ideals, but because her spirit shone through. She once said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Her confidence in her own being transformed her presence, making her face beloved not for perfection, but for strength and compassion. In her life, as in Hill’s words, we see that true beauty ripens with time.

The teaching here is clear: do not curse the marks of age, for they are the handwriting of your life upon your body. Do not despise your wrinkles or your smile lines; they are proof that you have felt deeply, laughed fully, endured bravely. And as you grow older, let your confidence grow with them, until you no longer measure yourself against fleeting ideals, but against the truth of your own spirit.

Therefore, O listener, take this lesson into your heart: cherish your skin, as it is the garment of your journey. When you look in the mirror, do not seek only the smoothness of youth, but recognize the story that has been written there. Teach your children likewise, so they may grow knowing that their worth is not in perfection, but in authenticity. Walk into age not with fear, but with dignity, until your very face becomes a testament to the life you have lived.

Thus the words of Faith Hill rise like an ancient song: the wrinkle is not a flaw but a memory, the smile line is not a crack but a light, and growing older is not decline but ascent into confidence. To live in your own skin, unashamed, is to live as the ancients counseled—with truth, with courage, with joy.