Turning Fifty

I turned fifty this year and it hasn’t been as traumatic as I once imagined it would be. I think it’s more the number that I mind than the age itself. It may have something to do with a distinct memory I have of a conversation between my brother and my grandmother. My brother, Mike, was probably about five years old at the time. He and I were in the back seat of my mother’s car, my mother and grandmother were in the front. We were riding along in relative quiet when suddenly Mike leaned forward over the seat and asked my grandmother how old she was. My grandmother (we called her Gommy) was the sweetest woman who ever lived—really, you would have loved her. Gommy turned around to Mike and patted his little hand and said, “Well, I’m fifty, Honey.”
Mike looked at her with a big, wide-eyed expression and said, with complete seriousness and concern in his voice, “Woooooo, Gommy! You won’t be around much longer, will you?”
Gommy proved him wrong, living to the ripe old age of 92, but that little snippet of conversation stuck with me all these years. I told that story to countless people over the years and giggled right along with them, but the closer I got to 50, the less often I told the story.
Now, here I am at fifty myself and I am discovering, just as I’m sure Gommy did, that grandchildren have a way of keeping you humble. At my fiftieth birthday party, when my grandson Aiden, who is five, asked how old I was and was told that I was fifty, he responded with a wide-eyed look. That was nothing compared to his reaction when his mother told him that being fifty meant that I was half of one hundred. He said, in all his five-year-old-innocence, “Wow, Mimi that’s OLD! Are you sure you’re really 50?”
A few weeks prior to the party, my three-year-old granddaughter, Olivia, was sitting in my lap, looking up at my face. Suddenly, she reached up and started to stick her finger in my nose. I stopped her, “Oh Olivia, don’t put your finger in Mimi’s nose.” To which she replied, “I just wanted to get those spider webs out of your nose.” Oh my gosh—spider webs?
I’m also discovering, just as I know my grandmother did, that there is nothing quite like the wonder of grandchildren to take the sting out of getting older. Who cares that I’m not as young as I once was? I have three grandchildren whose eyes light up when they see me; three precious grandchildren who melt my heart daily and make me feel like the most important person in the world.
I always wondered why Gommy just laughed when Mike insinuated that she was near death when she told him she was 50. Now I know that she understood the kind of joy only grandchildren can bring and age wasn’t a concern to her. She knew what was important and I believe my grandchildren have taught me that as well.

In My Own Shoes

Here we are in a brand new year filled with opportunities and adventures, happiness and sadness that we have yet to experience. I’m excited to discover what this year will bring. I’m learning (yet again) to count my blessings rather than dwell on the things that are “less than” what I would have wanted. Seems I have had to learn that lesson over and over again. Each year brings challenges and opportunities for growth that we can choose to embrace or push away. I had a friend one time who said that it seems that when God is ready for you to grow He puts you in a vise and starts tightening it down while He is saying, “Okay, time to grow some more.” I have to agree that sometimes that is exactly what it feels like. And more than once I’ve tried to wriggle out of that vise and stay right where I was because it felt just too uncomfortable to grow.
A very wise man once told me that we only grow through adversity. I admit that when I heard that, it rang very true in my heart, but I didn’t like hearing it. None of us cherishes the thought of marching headlong into adversity. I like the feeling of sailing along on smooth, open waters with not a cloud in sight. Or those mountain top experiences when I feel as if I’m on top of the world and nothing can touch me. But when I’m honest with myself, I know that I don’t want to stay always the same. I do want to grow and mature – like a fine wine, as they say.
I’m beginning to wonder if so many of those “vise times” – otherwise known as opportunities for growth – weren’t made even more difficult than they had to be because of my penchant for trying to wriggle out of the vise and find an easier way to do things. I heard someone say yesterday that when we’re in control, God isn’t. Not because He can’t be, but because we won’t allow him to be. We keep stepping in His way. I know I stepped all over his toes the last few years trying to do things my way and I know those last few years were tough ones, to say the least. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure that I made them a lot tougher than they had to be because of my determination to make things happen MY WAY.
Now, in this new year filled with hope and promise, I have decided that I want to stop trying to wear God’s shoes. Instead, I think I will fall in step behind Him and see where He takes me. Wherever it is, it has to be better than the paths I’ve chosen myself for the last few years. I’m ready for the adventure – but in my own shoes this time.