A Few Thoughts on Aging
I've been feeling my age lately.
It's not a horrible feeling. It's just that it's becoming clear that even though I may still feel emotionally like the 23 year old young woman that caught Terence's eye and made him determined that this girl was the one he was going to marry, I'm no longer a young woman. Not that I'm old, but I'm definitely middle-aged. And kids (and they do seem like kids to me) in their young 20's think that I am much, much older than they are. Well, I guess it's kind of true.
It hit me again today when S looked at one of my wedding pictures and though she could identify Terence as her dad, she couldn't identify me as the bride. She thought it was a "missionary" or a "primary girl." *sigh* Do I really look so different? OK, that's a silly question. I've been married for sixteen years and given birth to five children and I really don't spend that kind of time of my hair and makeup, let alone go around wearing fancy white gowns. Of course I don't look like I did on my wedding day.
To his credit, Terence constants affirms that he finds me just as beautiful as he did then. And he says it sincerely enough that I almost completely believe him. (I know he finds me beautiful, but as beautiful as when we married? Well. . . .)
Is it silly and shallow to worry about age? I doubt it, but even if it is, I can't seem to help it. All too often my body is giving me signs that I passed my peak already. My feet and ankles always hurt now. Of course, running makes it worse, but I know from extended periods of not running that it doesn't matter. They hurt anyway. I can't wear anything but my running shoes now. I break out dress shoes for church, but the old days of waltzing around in sandals or flip flops all the time? Long gone. Flip flops leave me staggering in agony.
Other signs that all is not as it used to be are creeping in. My fingers ache most days, and my toes as well. The joints do, anyway. They ache when I type or play the piano, or sometimes when I'm not doing anyway special at all. My toe joints protest walking. An early sign of arthritis? I don't know. My thumb throbs as I type this but I put it out of mind and keep going. What am I going to do about it? *shrug*
My hair is going white. Not silver, not gray. White. I've gotten the occasional strand for years now, but now I'm getting the white wings at my temples. I think I'm going to have to start coloring my hair, which I haven't done in a long, long time, and then it was because I wanted a change. Now I'm going to be trying to look the same. Ugh.
I don't mind these little signs of getting older too much. It's the fear of what else is around the corner that scares me. I've watched my grandparents' health deteriorate slowly and then sharply (I've only one living grandparent left now). I've seen the changes in my own parents as they fight their own battles against the decline. And the thought that I might have sixty more years of my body just falling apart-- well, that isn't a fun thought.
The only thing that holds my sanity in place is that I'm a firm believer in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and that some day, I will get to have my body back, the younger one, the one where my fingers don't hurt and my ankles don't burn every time I take a step. A perfect, resurrected body that will never grow old and die again.
Hope. It's a beautiful thing.
It's not a horrible feeling. It's just that it's becoming clear that even though I may still feel emotionally like the 23 year old young woman that caught Terence's eye and made him determined that this girl was the one he was going to marry, I'm no longer a young woman. Not that I'm old, but I'm definitely middle-aged. And kids (and they do seem like kids to me) in their young 20's think that I am much, much older than they are. Well, I guess it's kind of true.
It hit me again today when S looked at one of my wedding pictures and though she could identify Terence as her dad, she couldn't identify me as the bride. She thought it was a "missionary" or a "primary girl." *sigh* Do I really look so different? OK, that's a silly question. I've been married for sixteen years and given birth to five children and I really don't spend that kind of time of my hair and makeup, let alone go around wearing fancy white gowns. Of course I don't look like I did on my wedding day.
To his credit, Terence constants affirms that he finds me just as beautiful as he did then. And he says it sincerely enough that I almost completely believe him. (I know he finds me beautiful, but as beautiful as when we married? Well. . . .)
Is it silly and shallow to worry about age? I doubt it, but even if it is, I can't seem to help it. All too often my body is giving me signs that I passed my peak already. My feet and ankles always hurt now. Of course, running makes it worse, but I know from extended periods of not running that it doesn't matter. They hurt anyway. I can't wear anything but my running shoes now. I break out dress shoes for church, but the old days of waltzing around in sandals or flip flops all the time? Long gone. Flip flops leave me staggering in agony.
Other signs that all is not as it used to be are creeping in. My fingers ache most days, and my toes as well. The joints do, anyway. They ache when I type or play the piano, or sometimes when I'm not doing anyway special at all. My toe joints protest walking. An early sign of arthritis? I don't know. My thumb throbs as I type this but I put it out of mind and keep going. What am I going to do about it? *shrug*
My hair is going white. Not silver, not gray. White. I've gotten the occasional strand for years now, but now I'm getting the white wings at my temples. I think I'm going to have to start coloring my hair, which I haven't done in a long, long time, and then it was because I wanted a change. Now I'm going to be trying to look the same. Ugh.
I don't mind these little signs of getting older too much. It's the fear of what else is around the corner that scares me. I've watched my grandparents' health deteriorate slowly and then sharply (I've only one living grandparent left now). I've seen the changes in my own parents as they fight their own battles against the decline. And the thought that I might have sixty more years of my body just falling apart-- well, that isn't a fun thought.
The only thing that holds my sanity in place is that I'm a firm believer in the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and that some day, I will get to have my body back, the younger one, the one where my fingers don't hurt and my ankles don't burn every time I take a step. A perfect, resurrected body that will never grow old and die again.
Hope. It's a beautiful thing.
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