On Aging . . .

I'll begin by sharing a recent conversation with my four-year-old granddaughter Alexa, as I was getting my coffee one morning:

Alexa:  "Grandma, your legs have designs on them."

Me:  "Those aren't designs--they're veins!"

Alexa:  "Oh . . . ."  Her voice trailed off.  She stopped, taking a more studied look at my "designs." 

You have to laugh at such things.  But when my daughter put that conversation as her Facebook status . . . well, we all got another laugh, and so did friends.

Young children believe they will never get old and decrepit like Grandma.  I was the same, running barefoot with abandon through the grass as a young child, riding my bike with nary a care (because my legs simply did not protest back then), or jumping off the high diving board without fear because I was bulletproof.

What is my attitude toward aging?  First and foremost, I am grateful for the multitude of blessings the Lord has bestowed upon me:  my wonderful hubby extraordinaire, our two beautiful married daughters and sons-in-law (whom we look upon like sons), and our three lovely grandchildren.  I am also grateful to have my mom still with us, although with major health issues. She is now in a skilled nursing facility--but only a mile from our house. 

At 82, her mind is clear, and if she did not have advanced COPD (among other health problems), she would still work circles around me!  We have fabulous conversations about whatever we want when I pop in to see her.  She loves to read, and we often discuss the latest book she's involved in.  Christian fiction is her favorite genre; devouring a bagful of library books every couple of weeks, Mom whiles away many an hour reading inspirational stories.

I am 62.  I AM 62.  I . . .  AM . . . 62.  It is gauche these days to mention one's age, especially if beyond 40, but I am thankful for the decades I've lived through.  Just the other day, I was thinking about all those decades.  Our granddaughters, ages four and six, like to count my age by tens:  "Ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, TWO."  Well, when put that way, I am pretty decrepit!  I was born in 1947, not "19-mumble-mumble."  However, running around spouting off how much I currently weigh is a different matter altogether!  Torture would not even force me to reveal THAT magic number :).

Do I have wrinkles?  Yes, a few--but staying out of the sun for most of these years, I've managed to dodge the prune designation just yet.  Do my joints all work flawlessly?  Nope--knees and ankles do argue with me at times.  Is my hair gray?  Not if I can do something about it--and I do.  Do I look like I did when I was 20?  Of course not! 

All of this begs the question:  would I want to go back to being that girl of 20 now?  My answer is a resounding NO.  I have traveled all kinds of roads to arrive at this "mature" age of 62.  I have learned to say no gracefully when I don't want to do something that someone else has planned for me, like heading a committee.  I have learned how to keep my mouth shut at the right times, but I also speak up when it is important to me, not concerned so much with what others might think.  One's Christian testimony is something to cherish, but pleasing Him is the major point, after all.

The Lord has protected me from myself.  I have not had a life of perfection, certainly, because many troubles were actually the consequences of my own poor choices (taking a job that was totally wrong for me).  Some were beyond my control (my two miscarriages)--but through them all, the one constant has been like the poem "Footprints," where the Lord carried me when things were so tough I could not carry on by myself.

Aging is just a state of mind, I'm told.  I tend to believe that.  No matter how old and frail this house of clay becomes, I have so much more to look forward to, both in this life and in the next.  My faith in Christ sustains me. 

This boot camp we call life is supposed to be our preparation for the eternal one, so my aging is inevitable--even welcomed--designs and all.