The dark part of the forest

 I usually know ahead of time what I’m going to blog about, but I began this day with a blank page and a blank mind. All of it reflecting a blank emotional state. Not so black as despair, but neither with a bright degree of hope. I’m comforted in knowing that the Psalms reflect lament almost as much as they do praise.

The thing is—I’m sick of being sick. And I’m not even gravely ill. But several chronic conditions continue to deplete my energy, making any kind of activity cumbersome. I figure I have around two hours a day to express my creativity, then I resort to books, movies, and naps. To some people that might sound like the good life. But not to me.

I’m in process of giving up a leadership role that has brought me delight, as well as an avenue of service. My body is telling me I need to let it pass to someone else, and I’ve chosen to listen, but not without a sense of grief. And I wonder what I’m to let go of next.

My purpose for writing on this blogsite is to explore ways to face the challenges of aging with courage and humor. I include myself in this purpose which is why I use the word explore. My way of working through issues and challenges is through writing. Today my courage is low and I’m not finding anything to laugh about. But I sense that I need to write from the valley as well as from the mountain top.

About 30 years ago, when I was a mere 51 years old, I wrote a poem about my fears of growing older. (At the time, I didn’t realize how young I still was!) I find it still relevant in certain seasons. I borrow from the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale and the phrase “coming unglued.”

Coming of Age

“It's all right,” he assured me
as his ear slid
slowly
down the side
of his face.
His right index finger dropped
off
next.
He had always
known this would happen
someday.
His hairline had begun
to recede
years before.
We walked out of
the room
single
file.
I stumbled on
his left
foot.
He hobbled ahead,
scattering appendages
like
bread
crumbs.
About twilight
we entered the forest.

Grim, no? And a bit strange (like me).

Psalm 31 combines both lament and praise, going back and forth, showing the cyclic nature of our inward life. Mine at least. In lament, David expresses his anguish honestly.

Be merciful to me, Lord, for I am in distress;
my eyes grow weak with sorrow,
my soul and body with grief.
My life is consumed by anguish
and my years by groaning;
my strength fails because of my affliction,
and my bones grow weak.  (Psalm 31:9-10)

I detect themes of old age, chronic illness, and despair. But David knows where to take it. He cries out to the Lord in complete honestly. Later in the same psalm he writes, you heard my cry for mercy, and he ends the psalm with words to us: Be strong and take heart, all you who hope in the Lord.

I’ll do that today. I’ll take heart, even as I’m in the middle of the forest of age, going deeper every day. I may meet up with a wicked witch and an enticing gingerbread house. But probably not. I expect I’ll find light for the path, a light that grows brighter and brighter until the day when all is light, beauty, glory, and grace. And I may even have fun on the way.

I’m feeling better already.

Two celebrations plus a sea otter

 Celebrations restore the spirit, no matter how young or old we are. My spirit has been restored twice since my last blogpost. The celebrations span the generations. My grandson and his new wife are beginning their life of adventure in North Africa, and many of their supporters and friends gathered to pray for them as they prepare to leave us soon. And, on the other end of the age spectrum, the family gathered to celebrate my 80^th birthday. Can you imagine? Grandson and Grandma, whooping it up.

Aren and Anna were married in June and now they’re preparing for what might be a long-term adventure in a North African country, helping set up local businesses. They’re planning to travel light, and purchase locally all they need to live on which will probably be minimal. They’re very idealistic and totally committed.

Last week they invited a group of their supporters and prayer partners to a barbecue, with dishes they prepared from their new adopted country. These kids could set up a restaurant business if they wanted! Delicious food. It was a time for them to express their appreciation for all the support people have shown them. And it was a time for us to celebrate their dedication and commitment and to pray for them.

Like a typical Grandma, I couldn’t help but remember when Aren was a baby, very cute and often very serious, a determined but totally funny toddler. As he grew up, we didn’t understand what ADHD was, but when he finally received the diagnosis, all his restlessness and hyper-activity as a young boy made sense. Not that he was always restless. He showed great powers of concentration when building things, first with blocks, then graduating to Tinkertoys, Lincoln Logs, and finally to elaboration Lego constructions. Now armed with a degree in mechanical engineering (a natural!) he’s off to change the world. We couldn’t be prouder.

Then on Sunday, it was my turn.  In the middle of a sea of sunny days, this was predicted to be the one day it rained. As it turned out, the sun did his usual beautiful thing. The celebration was in a covered pavilion in a public park and four generations converged, with Hal and me being the oldies, and our two and one/half great-grand-babies bringing up the tail (and hogging most of the attention by being their adorable selves).

The day before, I mentioned to Hal at breakfast that I feared our son David was going to ask me to say some words of wisdom to the group. So I asked Hal to help me think up some wise words beforehand. We thought a while, but both of us came up blank. Then I remembered the three words. Earlier, in a time of quiet meditation, I had asked God for three words that I could live out in my 80^th year of life, something to encourage and inspire. The words that popped into my brain (or were placed there) were courage, humor, and beauty. My spirit said YES. So these are my words for 2025-2026. I’m not sure just how I will live out these words; I’ll have to let you know later. But I decided that if asked for some wise words at my party, I could toss these into the air.

It was all such a happy time and I was given the gift of a family glad to celebrate the life of this 80-year-old lady. We ate well, got caught-up on news, laughed, celebrated, and had birthday-cobbler (my not being a fan of cake). I did not have to blow out 80 candles. But I warmed my heart to more than 80 words of memories, gratitude, and celebration, all gifts from them to me. I shared my three words and my daughter added two more for me to take into the year: grace and joy. I think it will be a good year. Maybe not always easy, but good.

I encourage you to take any chance you get to celebrate life and the ones you love. Maybe even let God give you some new words to live by. It certainly makes growing old easier. Joyful even.

 

Note: I promised in the title I would say something about sea otters. By the way, this has nothing to do with the rest of the blog on celebrations. It’s just that I thought you should know that this is National Sea Otter Awareness Week. In order to become more aware of sea otters, I did some Internet research. Among other facts, I learned that Alaskan sea otters often float out to sea on thin ice rafts. If two otters float out, each on a separate raft, they hold hands (paws) to stay together. That’s inspiring. Aren’t you glad you know?