Aging

Several years ago, I gave some serious contemplation as to how my parents were aging.  When my grandparents were in their 40s, that seemed old, but then, my perspective was that of a child, and society had a different aging standard in the 1960s.  Anyone over 35 was "old establishment."   From the time I was twelve, I was looking forward to 40.  By the time 40 came around for me, it was fantastic and didn't really seem so old, after all.  It was in the next couple of years as my parents were hitting 60, that age seemed to be the new aging standard.  Either one was a young 60 or an old 60, and my parents are one of each.

In my early 40s, 60 really wasn't much of an issue, and I've always been more like Daddy than mom. I guess I just figured I'd be a young 60, but the other night, I got a wake up call, in the mirror.  As I stood at the sink, washing my hands, in the mirror; my great grandma was looking back at me.  Seeing the image of Daddy's grandma startled me, immensely.  I remember Granny, but she was much older than I am now, when I was born.  I shook it off, as best I could, and headed to bed.  It hadn't occurred to me that Daddy might be the exception to his family rule, or that he'd simply aged better because of his very active and athletic lifestyle.  Then there is the fact that men do tend to age better than women . . . think Paul Newman, Cary Grant, Sam Elliot.  Those men could still be the "leading man" while their female counterparts of the early movie days were relegated to support roles.

Sleep was a bit restless that night, as I considered a bold fact.  I'm less than three years from 60.  Although genetics will be an obvious factor, I still have a choice as to how 60 is going to hit and fit!  Vanity is not the issue, my endurance and activity level is my concern.  I remember several years ago, crying to Abba about having given Mr. B the last of my "good looking years," to which my Heavenly Father responded, "No, those were over before you met him."  Touche'!  Except for that one bout of self-pity, since following Messiah, I've been much more concerned about the beauty of my spirit.  I do want to reflect the glory of my Heavenly Father in my countenance.  The recent revelation that my hair is no longer salt & pepper, as well as more than a few aches and pains with rain coming that same night, caused me to evaluate a few other things that night.

Last year, right before Yom Teruah, I'd planned to do some things differently.  How many of those "good intentions" had I implemented?  As I laid there in the dark, evaluating my checklist, the stretches and increased walking hadn't exactly come to fruition, but HalleluYah!  I did have peace in the acceptance and resolve of a few other things . . . The ministry outreach has expanded exponentially and I think I'm more prepared than when I first heard to do so.  So, now that Yom Teruah is approaching once again, I'm repenting for my failure to accomplish some of the intentions.  I'm careful in regard to vows, but I'm not so sure Abba draws that line in my semantics, so it's time to get serious!

I'm not at all upset about growing older.  I've been counting on experiencing "my youth renewed" as found in Psalm 103.  I have no intention or desire to look 30, but I often think of doing chores and milking goats 20 years from now.  I want that.  I want to be able to do that.  I want to walk the half mile lane picking blackberries when I'm pushing 80, if my numbered days reach that point.  I want to still have a garden.  There is no need for the redeemed remnant to deteriorate with age.  I want to wear out, not rust out!  I can't expect Abba to renew my youth if I don't make a point to remain active.  If I'm not a young 60, the chances of being an active 80 will be drastically diminished.

My hair color and features are what they are, but I do have a choice in my activity and energy level.  The truth is:  I'm not getting any younger, but there is an element of choice in how gracefully I age.

Feeling Young

I haven't discovered the fountain of youth, but I have discovered a way to feel young!  In my younger days, it seemed I was usually among the youngest in my circle of influence.  I was a young mother, and young grandma, but as life has continued to move along, there are two generations of mothers now younger than myself!  Although I am believing the Psalm that speaks of my youth being renewed, my chronological age is certainly not going backward, and seems to be gaining momentum.

Actually, I am thrilled to be the age I am and finally comfortable in my own skin.  I don't have a crowd surrounding me in agreement, but that's okay, I'm not seeking popularity or human approval.  Although my skin feels alright, actually with my natural products, I think it feels better than alright, I am aware that I'm aging.  Sometimes as I walk around the homestead, I talk to myself, reminding myself that if Messiah tarries, I still want to be doing this twenty-five years from now.  In that same breath, however; I also tell myself, this place needs some young blood.

In the last few weeks, more than one person, right around 50 made a comment indicating they saw 57 as considerably older . . .  Whether it's 50 or 57, we're in our 50s!  The "zero" years have never bothered me, but a friend told me, they'd never bothered her either, until 60.  YHWH willing, I have big plans for 60 and I don't plan on it including any misery about my age.  Sixty is the new age marker for old or young.  It used to be forty.  Folks were a young forty or an old forty.

Since it seems to take so long now to even get started in independent adulthood, forty just doesn't seem so old.  From the time I was 12, I looked forward to forty, and it was fabulous!  Forty and 41 were absolutely great, then at 47, I started homesteading.  The lull between 41 and 47 wasn't horrible, just aware that more was to come.  Fifty was good, but nothing like I expected, then more lull until I was 55.  To be honest, there were a few rough years between 47 and 55, but it as it turns out, I proved the following adage.

 The last two years have been better than I would have imagined.  Although I should probably now be able to bench-press a Buick, I don't carry extra baggage, just extra weight.  There was only one potentially negative aspect of turning 55.  In this country, for some insane reason, 55 is considered a senior citizen.  My hair has been grey for so long, I've probably been getting a senior discount without even knowing it.  Actually, now that I'm eligible for the senior discount, I can express my disdain in it.  Young families trying to raise children and put food on the table should not have to pay more than someone else.  It's just not right.  Although there is much talk of "fixed incomes" the reality in observation is seniors and teen-agers have the most expendable cash flow.  Even though many American seniors are living comfortably, most grocery stores offer a senior discount day.

Most folks between 55 and 65 are still in the work force, so the daytime hours of senior discount day, primarily consist of those over 65.  Being self employed, I've now discovered a double portion blessing in senior discount day!  First, the money I save, I can actually donate to a worthy cause and second, as I look around at my fellow shoppers that day, I feel young!  As a matter of fact, early afternoon in the grocery store on senior discount day is about the only place I'm still one of the youngest.

An Interesting Dream

Most of my dreams seem fairly insignificant.  I do have a few that I recognize to be of spiritual significance, but I really don't have all that many memorable dreams.  I do, however; dream in color.  Having now used three sentences to say nothing, let's get to the point.

I dreamed I was speaking to a group of young women.  In the dream I was aware that all of these young ladies had some sort of inferiority complex in regard to their appearance and/or shape.  The group, as I remember, was basically average.  No one was dramatically beautiful or intensely homely.  The young women were not what I would call obese, but all indicated they were not pleased with their weight or their appearance.  They were all in search of "something" that would make them more attractive, which was to be the topic of my presentation.

As I spoke, I produced past photos of myself through the years.  This would be very out of character for me, in that I consistently hated to have my picture taken, always feeling fat and ugly.  With each photo, I gave my age and basic life circumstances at the time.  The presentation was somewhat interactive, so the girls made comments and asked questions throughout.  With each explanation on that trip down memory lane, a different girl would raise her hand to offer some sort of acknowledgement or insight.  It was amazing how many of the girls just couldn't understand why I had such low self esteem in those photos.  I responded with the same question and comment to them.

In the dream I seemed so natural and relaxed, which in and of itself is odd . . . One photo, stood out amongst all the others.  It was a wedding photo in which I was so thin, my complexion was ashen.  They asked me how I felt about myself at that time, and I answered honestly.  It was the one time and last person who made me feel desirable, but . . . I was really sacrificing my health to be that size and more importantly, by then I realized, I was counting on him to make me feel like a woman.  Ultimately, when the new wore off and it was time to just be a couple, I blew it.  He loved me, or at least tried to love me, for who I truly was.  My youth and weight made no difference to him, but my inferiority complex was so deep, I couldn't grasp that.   As I shared that with the girls, they fell contemplatively silent.  I could see their wheels turning.

In sharing the last wedding photo, I shared with the girls that I truly thought I "had it together" spiritually, emotionally, and was physically comfortable in my own skin, until . . . my honeymoon was a disaster and I found myself hanging on by a thread, spiritually.  I clung to Messiah.  Many times over, I found myself quoting the Psalm about the Rock that is higher than I.  Something had to change, and I was obligated to my circumstances.  It would take me a full 10 years to realize my self-image was not based upon how someone else, that man, looked at me.  In 2012, I looked in the mirror, finally happy with the reflection looking back.

As I moved out from behind the podium, I stood there 57 and full figured, and simply stated.  "I like myself the way Abba created me to be.  Being content is beautiful!"

Reality

A thought occurred to me the other day.

Keeping alive the "old arts" of self-sustainability, sewing, knitting, crocheting, and canning are talents I am grateful to have been given, but . . . Here I've been thinking about doing what the older generations did, when a simple reality hit me.  I am now a member of an "older generation!"  That just slipped right up on me.  I remember delighting in being a young mother and young grandma, and young great grandma, but that's still 3 descending generations.  No way around it.  I'm not a young woman keeping the old arts alive, I'm now an older woman, thinking the younger ones need to be learning what I'm doing.

I have to chuckle at my denial.  The reality first hit in 2012.  A long hard year, a couple of serious injuries, and by late August, there was an old woman looking back at me in the mirror.  I've since been somewhat renewed and refreshed, but the reality remains.  After recovering from the spiritual attack that ensued after writing, "Can We All Be Wrong?" and the difficult lesson from Matthew 10; I was then blessed with a great granddaughter.  Although feeling much better about life, the reality remains, young women are simply not great grandmas!

In the past few weeks, I received an email from a gentleman making enquiry of ministry and homesteading.  Phone numbers were exchanged and we had a conversation regarding self-sustainability and living by faith.  In that conversation, he made a comment that he'd expect a much older less attractive person to be doing what I'm doing and included a compliment regarding my social media profile pic.  Before I even considered thanking him for the compliment, I asked him point blank, if he was sure he had contacted the right person.  Life has simply moved past feeling young and pretty.  In moving past that, however; I am blessed to hear comments that folks appreciate my wisdom, knowledge, and compassion.  Thankfully, by the grace of G-d, those traits can actually increase with age and spiritual maturity.  I pray they do.

The icing on the cake happened last night, however; in a conversation with Daddy, inquiring about a place I'd been about 15 years ago.  I remembered two generations working there then.  One was obviously nearing retirement age at that time or even perhaps past, and the daughter appeared to be a late boomer with teen agers if I remember correctly.  As he and I spoke, he said they were still at the same location, but their daughter was now running the place.  I had no idea if that referenced the generation that had gone to school about the time I did, or the next one.  Knowing my kids are 40ish, I thought maybe a granddaughter of the founders might now be at the helm.  I asked if the one whom I'd seen all those years ago that was about my age was now running the business, to which he mentioned her name and said, "I don't think she's as old as you are."

My grey hair and great grandchild certainly date me.  My abilities, interests, and entertainment ignorance also are huge age indicators, but now, my own father has called me old.