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Stirring The Embers to Flame: 18 or 81?

Stirring The Embers to Flame: 18 or 81?: "Rushing through KMart yesterday with an armload of stuff, I stopped in the card section to pick up a sympathy card for a friend who is griev..."

18 or 81?

Rushing through KMart yesterday with an armload of stuff, I stopped in the card section to pick up a sympathy card for a friend who is grieving her mother's passing.  An aged gentleman in a worn straw hat held a birthday card with a large 18 on it in his hand.  He asked me if there were any number cards, and I slurred an "I don't see any," while fervantly looking for 'sympathy.'

He turned to me and said, "She's turning 81, and I found this 18, maybe she'll chuckle at my mistake."

I stopped in my tracks: This elderly gentleman not only had a fun sense of humor, he had a strong desire to make his lady laugh.  His wrinkled face held beautiful, twinkling blue eyes, and his hair had a sense of blond still through the gray.  He was alive, thinking, and caring  for someone else besides himself.

I learned a strong lesson about love and laughter and aging gracefully in that two minute exchange, and he doesn't even know it.

Turning another year over

June 28,2011 marked my 63rd birthday. Counting up to 63 is a reality check.  Seems just a short time ago, I was lamenting about being 50. Then, it seems about six months it was 60, and now I'm practically kissing 65. 

Turning another year over at this stage of life feels more serious than 60.  Maybe it's the reality of knowing I'm rounding 3rd base on the playing field.

I hit a home run when I married my dear husband. I didn't think of my marriage as that at first.  In fact, when I was 21, I didn't think  much about what was ahead of me.  I just knew I wanted to be married to Bill, have children, and that was that.  Twenties and  thirties flew by with childrearing. Turning forty, I was entering college for four years and then worked as a features writer for the local newspapers.

  The fifties were changing to part time work at Marietta College admissions, and moving to a condo - to 'get ready for old age'.

My 60th year was a kick in the butt that we were too young to sit in our recliners, so we planned a move back to a house and yard.  Three years later, we have that, and it's great.  Drey Place, as I've named our little house, is family-friendly and ready for any grandchild who wants to be here, at any time.

This picture of the Drey is the day the landscaping was being installed.
Anyway, I'm now into year 63.  The growing-my-hair-gray project is almost complete, having started in December, 2010 to forgo any more coloring.  This has been not as big a deal as I thought. In fact, I'm enjoying the freedom from costly hair salons and looking for that dreaded five week shadow in the edges, that kept appearing as regular as my old menstrual cycles.

Steeping into the thought of being a senior citizen for sure is evidenced by my social security check that should be coming to my checking account in a few weeks. I want to be a woman of depth,  of wisdom, and love; not a dour, sour shadow lurking around town hereafter.

I haven't exactly decided  how to shape these senior years, where to give my time, my money, and my energy.  It is time to stop a little and think about a plan.  I don't want to wander around, only to look up  at  70, and haven't used the decade well, because, obviously, I don't have that many decades left to fritter away.

I think about other women I've known who are gone now, and how they finished up.  My dear friend, Garnet Penrose, was a docent at the Castle into her 90's.  We went to lunches, shopped together, were active girlfriends until a few months before her passing.  I'd like to be like her.

She gave herself a 90th birthday party.  She used to give little 4th of July parties, when she wore red, white, and blue, with a little derby hat for fun.  And she did up Christmas to the nines.  She celebrated.  She wore pretty pink nail polish, and never was without her fun jewelry.  She tucked in her shirt, and wore belts.  (well, she was tall and thin, something I'm not, but you get the idea - she was cute, even at 90). She loved to listen to good music, from big band to classical, played it just for herself, on a Bose. She just lived well, even though her husband died some 35 years before.  She didn't stop paying attention to her life, even though she lived alone.  If that turns out to be the case for me, I hope I remember that.

I have many friends, and I'm grateful for each one.  I need every friend, with their individual personalities that seem to match a special place in my heart that reaches toward them.  Even though she's gone, Garnet holds her own special place in my heart, as all my loved ones do who have already gone.  She was my girlfriend, a soulmate.  I hope someone will say that about me someday, and forget that sometimes I can be a royal pain in the ass.   

One Moment

It only takes a moment to glance at your life and know you've been blessed.  I've been thinking a lot lately about how I spend a lot of time in "routine." It's self-imposed, but I can't sit down to write without having my kitchen cleaned, the house in a certain order, and my scheduled cleared for a few hours. 

Making all the above happen in sync is a rare occasion, because, by the time I get all of it together, there's no time to think, mull over a topic, and dive into it.  Frustration takes over, I leave my little office area, and step back into reality, and another missed opportunity to write has just happened.

Staying in the present moment, as the Sufi teachers call it, or simply paying attention to what's happening in front of you, is a learned practice, like so many other life-guides.  I operate on auto-pilot so much of the time, then I an angry with myself for missing the moments of my life as they open.

When I make myself stop and just look around, though,  I am overwhelmed at how God blesses me.  While I'm not looking, he gives me energy to go about my chores, a home to do them in, a husband to share life with, children to love, grandchildren to adore, friends who care about me, a car to go where I want to go, money for food and almost anything else I need or want.

I just don't stop very often to pay attention.

I've just put our youngest grandchild, Addison Grace, down to nap.  She and her sisters are with me on Tuesdays, usually, but this week I have her all week as the sitter is on vacation.  Anyway, I rocked her to sleep, watching her beautiful little eyes grow heavy with slumber as I massaged her little legs and feet and cuddled her close.

I've been able to rock five beautiful little grandgirls to sleep in my arms on a regular basis over the last 11 years.  How can I complain about anything in this world when I've been given this privilege.

One moment of being fully present is as strong a jolt as a pot of coffee drunk all at one sitting.  One moment of reality check brings me to my knees in gratitude for my life.

Whether I write another line or not, my time, each and every moment of it, is precious.  If you are reading along this little blogpost today, why not fill in my particulars with your own, and see if you come to the same conclusion as I have:  Life is a privilege.  Breathing is a joy.  I'm shaking my head in disbelief and humility that I overlook 99.9% of my breathing time.  One moment is worth a thousand, ten thousand words.  Praise God for His saving grace. 

Whose who?

Thinking about how to walk in  faith in the "everyday", includes sharing the gospel with people.  Worship, prayer, study are part of the Christian chemistry, but another important element is sharing salvation.

I can't make someone become a Christian, but as a follower, I'm obligated to talk about Christ, and be His witness.  I used to think my actions alone would do the trick; making good choices is essential. We can't  lead a sinful life and stay in right fellowship with God.

But, total dependence on the Lord, that cornerstone of faith,  means I give Him the glory in all things, that I don't say, "Gee, that was a coincidence," or, "Wow, that was luck."  No, it was the Holy Spirit's guidance.

The Christian life is an expression of God's grace, rather than a checklist of dos and don'ts.  It's an overflow of Jesus Christ. The Holy Spirit empowers us to do whatever God requires of us. 

Does it really matter if wer believe in eternal security?  The answer is yes.  Eternity is one of God's promises, and He wants His chidlren to be confident about our guaranteed future with Him.  That is why John declared, "These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life." (from 1 John 5:13).

As a believer who is sure of eternity, I don't work to get something from God, but to serve Him out of devotion. Part of that service is sharing His gospel.

Bringing Christ into daily conversations with friends takes some courage.  I can tell when someone isn't comfortable with talking about Him. There's a look in the eye from the listener that I'm either being an encourager or I'm "preaching."  I'm not supposed to preach. That's not my job.

I just so want to help my friends have what I've found in Christ.  He set me back on the right track some years ago, and I am forever grateful to Him. 

If I can help a friend find Him again, a few uncomfortable conversations is an easy thing when the safety of Him arms is the goal.

The trials of life will not spare any of us.  All Christ wants us to do is to "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." (from Proverbs 3:5-6).

As the old saying goes,  life is not about who you are; it's about whose you are.  And whose we are has essentially nothing to do with us and everything to do with Him. 

Calling Up the Love

Another girlfriend is facing a cancer surgery next week.  She requires a hysterectomy, and has some underlying health issues that stand to magnify her recovery time.  It's easy to imagine all the things she's thinking about, but she appears calm.

I wrote a poem once about how we are like the surface of the river.  I call it "Surfaces."

     Look at the gentle river as the wind blows upon her face.
     The smooth surface appears so peaceful here at this quiet place.

    You see my gentle smile and tell me I look so serene.
     The surface tells you nothing of what is in between.

     My thoughts are complicated, but on the outside they don't show.
     Tormented by old memories, I can't seem to let them go.

     With the undertow of current pulling always underneath,
     Like the muddy river bottom, my thoughts never seem to sleep.

     While I gaze at the quiet water I feel a sister-bond.
     Our surfaces are molded by the wind, and rain, and sun.

   The wind of anger and hateful words, the rain of tears that heal,
     And the bright sun of love to warm these deep crevices I feel.

     River surface so smooth and peaceful, teach me also how to be
     This quiet, gentle person, for all the world to see.

The mist of uncertainty seem to wrap around our thoughts when we are facing medical issues.  Living with arthritis for the last 15 years or so requires lots of effort to cast off the grayness of chronic discomfort.

I agree with Joan Erikson, that vital living is all about action and touch.  She said that's where we find the wisdom - in what we're doing and feeling.  Stepping out of the fog of the gray day,  daring to be different, that's the way to go.


I read once where women in general expect  to have all their emotional needs met by their husbands, their soul-mates, but that just isn't possible, that it takes girlfriends to offer the talking , and that shoring-up-confidence to help us through life.  No single person can be the end-all savior we want, because only Jesus can perform that miracle.

Thinking back on the stages of life I've gone through, it's true:  girlfriends are necessary!  They share the joys and concerns (time and again if you want to talk about it again and again). Best of all, they  sometimes laugh with you with that pee-your-pants wildness that is unbridled return to childhood.

Then, at times like this with my brave friend facing a level of uncertainty like never before, I want to be there to hold her hand, to pray with her or not, talk or not, just let her know she's got a friend in me.

I remember a day a few years ago,  in the last week of life for one of my knitting friends, Gretchen.  She couldn't knit anymore, but she wanted a couple of us to come over and knit at her bedside.  So, we did.  We talked, laughed, and in doing that, we saw below the surface of her pain and felt  our steadfast love for one another. We were her stretcher-bearers.  It was a beautiful visit, and I can see her face as clear as yesterday.  I feel grateful today for that memory, that friendship.

Each of us shares the surface poem, but with time and effort, we can make friends who can help us walk out of those stubborn gray days.  The Psalms ask, "Make us know the shortness of our life that we may gain wisdom of heart."  I want to thank each of my friends for their presence in my life, and I hope I can call up the love that this friend needs, and that God will show me, specifically,  how to love her through this season of her life.