Looking back on a road that always leads me somewhere.
August 8, 2015
GOD WOKE ME UP at four o’clock this morning.
Proverbs 4:23 came to mind. “Guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it.”
My health is good.
I am able to measure cups of water and scoops of coffee.
I can hear the steamy gurgles of the coffee maker and the ice maker dropping cubes.
That makes me aware of other nice sounds around me.
I hear the distant lonesome train whistle, the clickety-clack of wheels turning on the railroad tracks, the chimes of the courthouse clock on the square, the constant Texas breeze blowing through the crepe myrtle blossoms that overhang the deck swing, birds chirping, the buzzing of a bee, the Zzzz of a drill in a newly constructed house across the street, and the wind flipping the pages of my magazine.
Afternoons, I can hear children playing soccer and softball at the sports complex, the happy voices of children walking home from school, speeding cars on highway 287, and the voices of my children and grandchildren as they use their personal keys to enter my house.
I hear the pages of my life turning.
I experience it again and again.
God’s unfolding plan for me requires personal response to my life and inner experience with Him. My life has not been what I do for a living, but who I am while I live. There came a time when I walked away from all the drama and people who created it. First is my relationship to my Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, who is always beside me. I surround myself with people who make me laugh, forget the bad, and focus on the good. I want my spirit to shine.
At present, my life is tranquil, slower, with thoughtful contemplation of the infinite.
I am at the height of my life, like the highest seat of a Ferris Wheel when it pauses while turning.
As a senior citizen, I have crossed over to the place that has always been “someday.”
In the past, my wants have been many, but I have discovered how little I need. I appreciate my treasures and our beautiful, comfortable home, and the presence of a friend. Simple things are precious to me. I am a cocooner in a blanket on the couch where I cuddle with the quiet recesses of my heart.
I did not notice the changes that occurred until one day, I looked into the mirror and my face and body were not familiar.
My thick long red curls that once hung down my back in sheets of coppery brilliance have faded to thin reddish brown with threads of silver. I am irritated that my hair is thin. It has become a maintenance chore.
I now cover my balding head with wigs. I have to remind myself that hair does not define me as a person.
Traces of time show on my face.
Along with wrinkles, my freckles and teenage acne scars remain.
An extra fifty pounds have settled in my stomach and hips.
I am trying to accept that I will never again weigh less than one hundred fifty pounds. I honestly don’t know that I am unhappy enough about it to resist the next slice of cake.
I have peace and contentment in my life.
My only struggle is a limited financial source and trying to fulfill the legal requirement of insurance and taxes.
Sipping another cup of coffee and watching the palm leaf blades of the ceiling fan on the patio go round and round like the cabana in Florida, I see the gentle rain fall and make puddles in the yard. I see a white streak across the sky left by a jet that is too high above to hear it as it seems to float on fluffy white clouds on the blue background of the sky.
As I get older, I get closer to the people who have already gone. I think about them all the time. I hear the call of beyond. I am filled with memories.
I reflect on my life with great affection for so many people.
I have made a conscious effort to reconnect with some friends and relatives who are important to me with whom I had lost contact.
My family treats me like I am a blessing and a joy. I am pampered, loved and protected.
I inherited the best qualities our family has to offer.
Somewhere during my life’s journey, I became friends with myself.
I have not made a unique contribution to history.
Someone once told me to bloom where I am planted.
I am who I am no matter where I live.
By writing blogs, I wander humbly past the triumphs and tribulations, along the curves and angles of my memory path that led to this point of my seventy-one years existence