Birthday Reflections

I learned in Bible class once that you could divide the life of Moses into 3 40-year parts. His first 40 years were spent in Egypt, the next 40 years he was a shepherd, and he spent his last 40 years with the Israelites wondering around in the desert.

It seems like my life can be divided up into thirds too. The first 20 years I was a kid. The next 20 was spent having and raising kids of my own. And now, as a 40-something grown-up, I'm enjoying life in a new way. I have the freedom to be and do pretty much anything my conscience, aging body, and pocketbook will allow.

The one who said, "Life begins at 40," wasn't kidding. This is a great time in my life. Not that the first 40 years weren't, but I'm finding a peace and contentment and, as Susan Ann likes to call it, an attitude of gratitude that has blessed and surprised me as I age. Growing old isn't such a bad thing. I think the older I get, the better I get. I don't say that to brag. I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for lots of hard lessons learned along the way. I still have a lot to learn, (Proverbs 10:19, Proverbs 11:2, Micah 6:8 and Colossians 3:23 to name a few) but here's what I've figured out about life so far.

1. God is everything. (That's why He calls himself, "I AM.")
2. Everything happens for a reason.
3. Begin every day and every task with mediation on God’s Word and prayer, and all will be well.
4. Less is more.
5. The secret of contentment: Focus on the positive... what you have instead of what you wish you had; where you are instead of where you wish you were; who you are instead of who you wish you were.
6. Rejoice always! God loves you.

I feel like there should be 7, but I can't think of another one to put there. Maybe I will over the next 20 years. Or maybe one of you can add number 7!

And now, a few pictures…one from each of the phases of my life thus far...

1967
 (I'm the one on Dad's lap.)

1995

2011

Linette Grows Up

On Tuesday I got my first pair of “grownup glasses.”

That’s what my eye doctor calls them.

They’re actually multifocals.

If I hold something about ten inches away and through the bottom part of my lenses, sort of cross-eyed, I can see that something nice and clear. If I look through a small area in the center of my new glasses I can see items at arm’s length clearly. And if I look through the top of my lenses I can see things far away crystal clear.

They were made just for me, and cost me a lot of money.

I should love them.

I want to love them.

I’m trying really hard to love them.

But so far, they are driving me batty!

They say it will take me a week or two to learn how to adjust my head and neck as I look about, so I’m looking through the right part of my glasses to see in focus at all distances. But I don’t think I’m learning anything, except maybe how to put up with everything around me swinging in and out of focus.

But I’ll try to be patient. What else can I do? I don’t think the eye doctor takes returns.

In the meantime if you see me swaying as I walk or tripping on curbs, I’m not drunk.

I’m just old.

I mean “grownup.”

Hands

The first time I remember noticing a person’s hands was back in 11^th grade American Literature. Mr. Bergevin wasn’t an effeminate man by any means, but his hands were soft, pink, and well manicured - so unlike my father’s hands. Dad was a farmer, and his hands showed it. They were scarred and soiled with grime under the nails, and colored deep-red like beef jerky in the sunshine. His hands show the kind of man he is… tough, determined, no-nonsense.

The hands that intrigue me now-a-days are my own. I like to think I’m rather youthful in body and spirit, but then I’ll catch a glimpse of my hands and shudder. “What are my mother’s old wrinkly hands doing at the end of my arms!” Ick.

I guess I could do something about it. Maybe I could wear gloves, or keep my hands suspended in the air. They seem to look better when I hold them up. But that sort of defeats the purpose of trying not to draw attention to them. I saw on TV recently they have new procedures where they inject special chemicals just under the skin, to fill in between your veins and give your hands a more youthful appearance. It’s called Hand Rejuvenation. That seems a bit extreme. And I’m not sure if puffy hands are any better than wrinkly hands.

Faced with these choices I have decided to simply not worry about it. My hands may not be all that attractive, but they are extremely functional.

Case in point, my walk to work. I observed this past week, that even during this activity which one might assume is “leg’s work” my hands were employed in many subtle yet essential activities, such as:

-pushing up my glasses

-scratching itches

-pulling a wayward strand of hair back in place

-swatting away pests

-adjusting creeping undergarments

-waving to a friend

Looking at this list one can see clearly that a walk to work without one’s hands would be uncomfortable at best. Sometimes people are encouraged to blindfold themselves to get an idea of what it would be like to be blind. But I’ve never heard anyone suggest you bound your hands in order to imagine life without them. Nor am I suggesting that now (though donning a pair of stiff winter mittens might do the trick). Instead I invite you to join me in celebrating hands – my hands, your hands, all hands, the beautiful as well as the otherwise. Let’s give them a round of applause.

Long may they wave!

Note: Thanks to Zack for taking the picture for this week's blog. I tried doing it myself, but it was impossible without the use of my hands.