The time will come when it will disgust you to look in the

Hear, O children of time and vanity, the words of Rose Kennedy, mother of a great and troubled dynasty, who spoke with sober wisdom: “The time will come when it will disgust you to look in the mirror.” These words strike the soul like a bell tolling in the night. They are not words of cruelty, but of truth, truth that faces every mortal being: that beauty fades, strength declines, and the mirror, once a friend that reflected youth, becomes a harsh reminder of the years that cannot be reclaimed.

The mirror has always been a symbol of self-knowledge, but also of self-deception. In youth, we gaze upon it with delight, marveling at vigor and freshness. In time, however, it begins to reveal what we do not wish to see—wrinkles of age, scars of sorrow, and the slow decay of the body. Kennedy, who herself endured the loss of children, the weight of grief, and the cruel march of age, spoke not merely of physical disgust but of the confrontation with mortality. The mirror becomes unbearable because it strips away illusion.

History offers many who wrestled with this truth. Cleopatra, famed for her beauty, clung to youth with perfumes, baths, and jewels, yet even she could not escape time. Elizabeth I of England painted her face with layers of white to hide the ravages of smallpox and age, desperate to maintain the mask of eternal youth. Both reveal the ancient struggle against the mirror’s verdict. Yet Kennedy’s words stand apart, for they do not speak of resisting age, but of acknowledging its inevitability—accepting that the time comes when even the bravest spirit must face decline.

But hear this also: Kennedy’s saying is not only a lament, but a warning. To anchor one’s worth in outward appearance is to build a house upon sand. When the tides of age roll in, the foundation crumbles, and despair sets in. If, however, one builds their worth upon virtue, compassion, and the strength of spirit, then the mirror’s betrayal loses its sting. For while the skin may wrinkle, the eyes may yet shine with kindness, the lips may yet speak wisdom, and the heart may yet burn with courage.

Consider Socrates, who was mocked in Athens for his plain and homely appearance. He did not flinch before the mirror nor the jeers of others, for he knew that true beauty was not skin deep but soul-deep. His life of inquiry, humility, and virtue outlasted the handsomeness of any youth of his day. The mirror would have disgusted him had he cared for it, but instead he fixed his gaze upon the mirror of the soul, and there found a beauty that age could not defile.

The lesson for us is thus clear: prepare your heart for the day when the mirror no longer flatters. Do not tie your worth to the fleeting mask of the body, but to the enduring treasures of wisdom, love, and character. For that day of disgust will come to all who have lived long enough—but it need not destroy you. If your worth shines from within, then the mirror becomes but glass, powerless to define your value.

Practically, this means nurturing the spirit daily. Do not let your identity rest upon beauty, youth, or strength alone. Instead, cultivate kindness, deepen your wisdom, strengthen your character, and leave behind deeds that will outlast you. Let your measure not be the lines on your face but the lives you have touched. And when the mirror’s truth comes upon you, meet it not with despair, but with defiance: for though the body decays, the soul can yet grow radiant.

So, O listeners, take Rose Kennedy’s words as both warning and counsel: “The time will come when it will disgust you to look in the mirror.” But let it not end there. Transform that disgust into a turning of the gaze inward, toward the immortal part of you. Build beauty that no age can erode. For the body withers, but the spirit, if tended, can shine brighter with every passing year, until no mirror can contain its light.

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