Happy Birthday to Me!

I keep thinking I should write a special blog post for my birthday – even though it’s not one of the big ones… like last year. Maybe it’s odd that a grown woman would care about marking the day of her earthly debut, but… I guess I see it partly as a time to celebrate another year of defying death...

Yes, I’m gonna be 51… and I have a son who just turned nine. Just for the heck of it, I put him on the scales to see how far he’s come. Granted, he’s just busted through the mother of all growth spurts, but this child… this NINE YEAR OLD child, weighs 82 pounds. He is tall and well-formed, solid muscle and bone … I am definitely not saying that I think he weighs too much. In fact, he’s just right. My point is that …well, he weighs more than I did in my twenties.

Yeah… I was scrawny. And sick. And sad. But now… well, I’m plump! And well! And happy ! And ALIVE!!! So why NOT celebrate?! Why NOT eat cake?! Why NOT have a splendid diner at the fantastic, Southern Living-hailed Geer Street Garden?!

I found this cake pic doing an image
search! It has my name on it!

What’s weird is that this crazy body and brain of mine contain two opposing forces: the first one being the LET’S ROLL! me… the me who is ready for anything – let’s love the mess out of these people God gave me, and design the hell out of these ads and magazines, and write this crazy blog with all kinds of weird references, and lightly steam the crap out of these delicious vegetables from the farmshare, and dig art and music and movies and church, and tell everybody about Jesus… That’s probably the one you’re seeing when you look at me. And it really IS me.

But then there is this other me…  the ready-to-meet-Jesus me. The worn out, tired, plodding, just-get-it-over-with me. That’s me, too. I AM a Gemini (ie. twins), after all. Not that I follow the zodiac – that’s supposed to be demonic or something, isn’t it?

Yeah... I used to weigh what my
nine-year-old weighs now. It was nasty.

It’s pretty helpful when I think about this to realize that Paul had these same warring factions in him. Here’s what he said: "If I am to go on living in the body, this will mean fruitful labor for me. Yet what shall I choose? I do not know! I am torn between the two: I desire to depart and be with Christ, which is better by far; but it is more necessary for you that I remain in the body." (Philippians 1:22-24)

Now, I am in NO WAY comparing myself to a spiritual giant like Paul… But I DO kinda know what he meant. It’s not a weird death wish or a suicidal tendency or anything… I think he was just tired. He endured all kinds of trials – whipping and imprisonment and shipwreck and snakebite… It makes my little "trials" look like a hangnail.

Harry Dean Stanton
as Paul

But Paul... I don’t think he was looking for a way out – he’d already emptied himself and given himself to Jesus… I just think his whole life had been pointing to this end and he was ready for it. And he was so sure of Jesus waiting there for him that he could freely say, “Kill me now.” I imagine he felt like a marathon runner craving the finish line and his trainer's arms to collapse into.

And because he was so sure of Jesus, he was also able to keep on running – he plowed ahead with what he was doing here on earth. He knew he wasn’t done, and he loved all those people so much... He had to keep on keeping on… to PREACH TO HECK OUT OF THE GOSPEL, SAVE A GAZILLION SOULS, MAKE A BUNCH OF TENTS, AND PRAY SOME SUPER FERVENT PRAYERS, AND HAVE SOME EXHAUSTING VISIONS, AND PLANT A BUNCH OF CHURCHES ALL ACROSS THE KNOWN WORLD, AND WRITE A BUNCH OF HELFUL LETTERS, AND MEDIATE SOME DISPUTES AND MENTOR SOME YOUNGER PASTORS… It was a hard life, but a good one.

Life IS good – and I'm going to celebrate another year of mine. Death is good, too, but I’m not ready. And either way, it’s all for Jesus.

When I'm 64

Will I be wearing this
when I'm 64?

In just a month I and my big mouth will be... gasp... FIFTY YEARS OLD!! What’s up with that?! Do I like it or hate it...?! Or some of each...?? Yeah, that’s it – some of each. 

For instance, despite occasional hiccups, I just get happier every year... the more years I live... well, you get the picture. Also, I’m getting closer and closer to heaven. Yes, sweet, sweet rest in the Everlasting Arms will be mine someday. I have no death wish whatsoever, but I am kinda looking forward to being where there is no more sorrow, no more night!

On the other hand, the aging process pretty much sucks. My body is falling apart... psoriasis, torn muscles, perimenopause, an addled brain, failing memory, high cholesterol... not to mention the more superficial changes: liver spots, wrinkles, skin tags, grey hairs... I’m a bit vain, so the decline in my already mediocre looks is kinda painful... especially with the focus the media put on beauty. My own upbringing involved a great emphasis on appearance, so that kind of thing does tend to stick out in my mind.

... or this?

If you know me, you will doubtless say, “what?” Because I don’t wear makeup, I don’t diet, I have a great head of shaggy hair, and am just generally kind of sloppy. You’d think that a person who thinks about appearances much would make some attempt at tarting herself up. But... nah. I’m too lazy, and, frankly, don’t have the time.

I am not interested in wearing makeup or dieting or any of the more radical youth extenders like Botox or plastic surgery, but I have always been interested in fashion. Well, not fashion in the sense of what is on the runway or being sold in stores... but style. Personal style. So one of the biggest questions I have as I grow old is... what do I wear? Both now and when I am truly elderly...? Occasionally I think, someday I’m going to have to start dressing my age... My next thought is, “Nah...” Like Simon Doonan, whom I’ve quoted before, “I loathe the idea of growing old gracefully. I fully intend to grow old eccentrically and dramatically. Brace yourselves!”

... or this?

So my “style” continues to be a mixture of basic and whimsical pieces in a mixture of styles: punk, preppy, hippie, vintage, quirky, athletic... I value comfort, but also love to catch eyes. I will wear my Catskill Mountain Moccasin boots with just about any outfit. They are comfortable, and being custom made, they are unique. They recall another time, which, as a history buff, I am all for. Other times, I like to channel my inner Joey Ramone and sport black Chuck Taylors. With a frilly dress. Because that’s me. 

How 'bout this?

But how will this look when I’m fifty? I’m guessing it won’t look much different than it does now, since fifty is just around the corner for me! So if it’s going to look ridiculous, it already does. And how will it look when I’m 60? 70? 80? You know what? From what I hear, the older you get, the less you care. (Of course, those who say this never met my mother!) In any case, if this turns out to be true for me, I might look ridiculous, but my concern will decrease proportionately. 

My other silly, superficial question is this: should I dye my hair? Right now that shaggy mop of hair is a nice chestnutty brown, with only the occasional grey hair popping up, and even then you have to look really carefully to see it. I always have a little debate with myself when I see one - to pull or not to pull? But what about when I start to really go grey? Will I look like an old hippie woman? Should I braid it to minimize the impact on the eye? Should I finally give myself a shorter, more becoming cut? Should I dye it and look weird with a wrinkly face but no grey? Maybe this, too, will be something I am unconcerned about. That would be nice. 

Some glad morning when this life is o'er,
I'll fly away!

So there you have it. It seems that my goal as I age is not to work harder on my appearance, but to care less, while continuing to have fun with my own personal style. Of course this only addresses the superficial aspects that trouble me. But that’s the kind of crap I think about. And, really, the other stuff doesn’t bother me. I’m honestly looking forward to my old age unfolding before me, growing old with my husband and friends, watching my child grow up... getting to know God more and more as I am buoyed higher and higher toward heaven by God’s eternal grace.