The years prior to my eighteenth birthday crawled by like molasses running down a snow covered mountain on a December morning in northern Alaska. The years after my eighteenth birthday have sped by like melted molasses running down a red hot griddle at 12:00 noon on the fourth of July in the middle of Death Valley."Good morning, Donna. I am your new age."
"Really? You know, you really don't look that old."
"I know, I know. I guess you have to thank that ancestral gene pool of yours."
"Well, I am grateful that there are very little cracks in my facade, but my knees do complain every now and then that the years have not been very kind to them."
"Ah well; you win a few and you lose a few."
"Yes indeed; still of this one thing I am very sure; every birthday, each new day is God's gift to me."
I can almost hear the Clark Sisters singing in the background, "Is my living in vain?" On this the anniversary of my birth I am almost compelled to ask myself if I have lived up to my potential, that potential wired into me by the most High God. And have I grown too long in the tooth to keep up the pursuit of honor and glory for Him? Is it now my season to settle into the Titus 2 woman phase as I wait for the twilight years to diminish, fade and eventually go out?
I suppose I just might be just a tad overly sensitive to the subject of age these days, but it seems to me that the message the world sends to anyone who is blessed enough to hit a certain age plateau is "Your time has passed; your period of usefulness is over; find your rocking chair, take your seat and sit down." Whatever happened to the idea that the wisdom which comes with age and experience is a valuable resource?
Ageism is too often painted in the feminine and women are almost taught to despise the laugh lines and the gray roots, that such natural transitions are a sign of diminished value and the bodies that carried and birthed children are now targets of ridicule for the stretch marks and additional pounds. Even menopause works against us as it deposits that extra weight around our waists so that while we might celebrate the cessation of one season, we now have to struggle to vanquish its rude consequence.
I had an epiphany a few nights ago (perhaps prompted by the fast approaching birthday). I have undervalued myself, have deemed myself "not special," so much so that I have gone into relationships with no expectations of reciprocal grace and have accepted whatever was handed down to me. I have accepted the left-overs of friendships and the oversights of those who professed to love me. I have not expected people to like me simply because I always saw others as "greater than." I have no idea how I got to this place, but I do know (even at this stage of the game) that I no longer want to reside in this mindset.
Paul writes to us, in the book of Romans, that we should not think more highly of ourselves than we ought. I hear Paul and I understand his point; I am not all that and a bag of chips, but I also understand now that if I do not treasure myself, how in the world can I expect others to treasure me?
"Is my living in vain? No, of course not!"
I may have wasted some precious time along the way denying my worth to the kingdom of God, but I am even more determined to live up to the promise He planted in me for my good and His glory. It may take me a while these days to get from point A to point B, but complaining knees notwithstanding, I will continue to press my way. And I do have sense enough to know that each new day is a blessing . . . in spite of gray roots, laugh lines and stiffening knees.
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