I Never Expected to Live This Long

2018 was not the Year of Writing. This blog fell by the side of the road as we whizzed through the year, running here and there and everywhere. When my older boys were very small humans, I used to wish they would stay small forever while simultaneously praying that they would grow up just a little bit because there were certainly days that seemed long and hard. I look back on those charmed years where our commitments were limited to park play dates and church chili cook offs and I wish we could return to them. The truth is, motherhood just gets more intense with each passing year. Life really does begin to be measured in report cards, baseball games, science fair projects, taekwondo classes, and rare nights at home. I can't imagine how fast it will all seem when I have teenagers--and a little one, still. It is exactly what we signed up for. It is beautiful and exhausting and there isn't much time for writing.

Which is a cryin' shame because my toddler is maybe the funniest person on the planet right now. All toddlers are hilarious but our extremely verbal one leaves us in stitches regularly.

There was nothing life altering or earth shattering in our family this year. And so I look back on it, smile and nod. It was a year. The kids grew and changed and turned more into the people they will become. But I have noticed something.

I have noticed that I am no longer young. The groove in my forehead, just above my nose, is deeper. The bags under my eyes are darker and more wrinkly--especially in the morning. I am not old. But I am not young. It has been nearly 20 years since I graduated from high school.

And sometimes I feel like I should still be there, laughing with my friends, only vaguely recognizing the future years that will come and go like the tide.

Today, I watched as an old man walked past a baby. The child was in the front of a cart and, as he passed, the man reached out and gently tickled the baby. He never slowed his already slow pace. He just touched the little one as he shuffled past. I saw this and wondered about the very old. They seem to be drawn, intensely, to the very young. As I watched, I wondered. Do they, without even really thinking about it, long to connect, for just a single moment, with a beginning? Do they, without even really thinking about, feel the inevitable winding down of their own lives?

My grandfather will be 92 soon. As he walked out the door after we'd celebrated Christmas together, he looked at me and said, "I never expected to live this long." In some ways, I suppose that's true for me. That forehead groove will be something else if I live another 55 years. And yet, I cannot imagine not living to be 92. There is so much more I want to do and see and be.

I have noticed that my oldest boy is standing on the edge of childhood. The ground has been covered. There is not much left to traverse. It is behind him. Ahead is the true test of his character. Who will he become? What will he become? For Christmas, as a quick little add on gift, I bought him a travel case full of Axe products. I thought he might roll his eyes at me. You got me body wash and deodorant spray? Golly gee, thanks, Ma." Instead, he insisted on taking a shower as soon as we were done so that he could try it out. Then he made me carve out a spot under the sink just for his Axe products. And I thought, he wants to smell good. I'm trying with all my might to embrace this new season of our lives together. I can't seem to slow the hands of time, no matter how hard I try.

In the absence of time for writing, I have noticed laughter and tears. I have responded to anguished texts of a friend's marriage falling apart. I have thought of my own marriage and how we're never promised another tomorrow. If not destruction, perhaps death. So I cling, more tightly now, to my own. An entire life--and the lives of three children--are woven so deeply through the core of that man that I don't even know where he begins and I leave off. 

I have prayed for friends and the tiny child of a friend who have heard and responded to that dreaded word...cancer. I have prayed for friends over their children's diagnoses...autism spectrum disorder. And yet, in all of that, I have laughed until I cried and thanked the Lord for friendships, humor, and blessings.

We never know what tomorrow will bring. Joy. Grief. Blessings. Sorrow. 

But I have noticed that we look back, on December 31, and judge a year when, in reality, tomorrow is just another day. We are only one day older. Nothing much will have changed for most of us. 11:59 turns to 12:00 and the world keeps spinning. Still, it seems just as good a time as any to reflect. I predict that my life will only get busier and crazier in the coming year. My babies will keep growing, Lord willing, until one of them turns into a teenager, one of them turns into a three-year-old, and one of them remains in that sweet spot between toddler and teen. My marriage, Lord willing, will only get stronger. But, perhaps, as the groove on my head deepens, I will linger longer near that baby in the cart, soaking up her fresh beginning, as I discover the years between brand new and I never expected to live this long.

Merry Christmas

And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” (Luke 2:10-12)

This day. There is happiness found in the traditions, in the delicious foods, in the faces of our children, in the time spent with family. But the joy, the true reason we celebrate, comes from the Gift sent to us--the Babe born to die-- for you and for me.

Merry Christmas to you all. "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased." (Luke 2:14)