I lost my boob for a minute.

I was certain my tastes in music would always be up to the minute.
I was quite certain that I’d never get to the point where night driving was a challenge.
And I was absolutely certain I’d never sit around talking about health issues.

And yet here I am.

I’m more Carole King than Billie Ellish.  
My optometrist tells me I have the beginnings of cataracts, which is not uncommon in someone “my age”. And while I CAN still drive at night, I know it’s not my best time of day.
I’ve had several TIAs, I’m worried about Alzheimer’s, and I’m a prime candidate for a stroke. And yes, I find myself talking way too much about my health.

It happens, folks.  You either get old and die — or you die sooner – there aren’t really any other options, so you either bemoan the telltale signs of aging or you learn to laugh at yourself, find some perspective, and live in gratitude.

Just last week, I was lying in bed late one evening, jotting a few notes on a notepad when I dropped my pen cap down my jammie shirt.  I lifted said shirt to retrieve the cap only to be shocked to discover my boob had disappeared. A few moments of panic ensued, followed by a search and rescue mission, and the lost (first the boob, and then the cap) was found.  In. my. armpit. Oh my.

And just today, I fell off the treadmill. Yup. Flyboy came downstairs and I assumed he had something to say to me so I stepped off the running belt to give him my attention. Well, halfway off the belt, and then down I went, about to be catapulted off the end.  Pete caught me just in time, saving my skull from a painful encounter with the floor. Moral of the story, dummy: Just because you were once able to pull your leg up into vertical splits while standing on a balance beam does not mean you can step off a moving treadmill.  In other words, act your age.

I’m finding that like every age/stage in life, senior citizenry is a time of day-to-day discovery.  There are no easy answers, no miracle cures, no magic pills. It’s real, it’s challenging, and in the very same breath, it’s freeing and it’s a huge relief to finally know who I am in Christ.  I’m more interested in I Peter 3 beauty than trying to preserve what naturally fades over time.  

It’s a good place to be.  And though aging sneaks up on me pretty regularly, I’m okay with it. I’m spending less time trying to cover it up and more time trying to accept it for what it is: a blessing.  Together let’s explore the possibilities as we go. God is not finished with us yet, and whether our time is shorter or longer, He wants our days to be purposeful. Whether it’s serving our families by pouring into our grandkids or caring for an ailing spouse, serving in our churches or local ministries…if you’re still working, or whatever you do, every day matters. Each day is a gift.  Let’s use them all well.


Even in old age they will still produce fruit;
they will remain vital and green. –Psalm 92:14 (NIV)

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