It Sucks to Be Human

I'm committed to eating healthy and exercising. I'm careful about what I put in my mouth. I work out faithfully several times a week. I feel like I'm in the best shape of my life except . . .

My body still bears the cellulite and stretch marks I acquired as an overweight kid. No exercises cure that. I might have rock hard abs, but who can see them under the saggy belly skin from carrying four babies? My hands look older by the second. My gray hairs multiply as fast as my brain cells die.

It sucks to be human.

And it's not just physical. I sit in Bible study and am reminded of how I fail daily. My kids point out my inconsistencies. When others are hurting, I can't take away the pain or fix the problem. I stumble over my inadequacy every day of my life.

It sucks to be human.

Every day I'm more aware I'm not all that. It gets old, you know?

Is humanity about being humbled?

That's how it feels. When I look up the root hum that both words share, I see a connection. Hum pertains to earth, ground, man. I can't help but think of the psalmists words, "he remembers that we are dust." The Greek word for humble is tapeinos meaning "not rising far from the ground." Being human and being humbled go hand in hand, part of the deal for earth dwellers.

Humanity is a constant state of being humbled.

Sigh. What are we to do then? Where is the freedom, the joy we're supposed to know as God's children? Where is the good news?!

We can take comfort knowing this is not all there is. Earthly existence and decaying bodies will pass, but eternity does not. We can fight our humanity--our constant state of being humbled--gaining nothing but frustration or we can embrace it, knowing it causes us to long for something better, something more glorious and beautiful and lasting.

Yeah, it sucks to be human, but that makes heaven all the greater prize.

That is why we never give up. Though our bodies are dying, our spirits are being renewed every day. For our present troubles are small and won’t last very long. Yet they produce for us a glory that vastly outweighs them and will last forever! So we don’t look at the troubles we can see now; rather, we fix our gaze on things that cannot be seen. For the things we see now will soon be gone, but the things we cannot see will last forever.

2 Corinthians 4:16-18

It sucks to be human. That is true. But we won't be here forever. The best is yet to come.



Photo Credit: dok1

The Secret to Feeling Younger

I never thought at 47 I'd consider myself young. My teenagers remind me on a daily basis how "old school" I am.

"No offense Mom."

Yeah. No offense.

But Monday I had the unique opportunity to lead a short Bible study at an assisted living facility. Those people can make you feel like a million bucks!

"My, but you're a pretty young thing!" said one of the first to arrive. (I confess if the wall wasn't behind me I would've turned around to see who she was referring to!) When they asked if I had children, I passed around pictures and got, "What? You don't look near old enough to have kids in college."

They were so sweet and so attentive and yet my stomach was all gurgly. It's an intimidating venture, I tell you, to be designated the leader of a group who have truly lived, who've experienced decades more pain and sorrow than you. I've done it once before when I was asked to speak to a group of seniors about grieving. Grieving! When I saw the average age was around 85, I nearly turned around. How could I say anything they didn't already know?! That feeling came flooding back as women entered the chapel Monday.

"You just be yourself, honey," one kept saying.

I chose to look at verses on anxiety and worry (hmmm, any clue where my head's been lately?) and when I asked them what they worried about, one woman said, "Honey, I had seven kids. I don't worry anymore. I just call one of them and let them take care of it." Don't you love it?

Though she made me laugh, I also thought, "Uh oh, this could be a long lesson if everyone is like her!" But across the table, the lady who said "just be yourself" smiled at me and I went ahead with what I prepared. I figured I didn't wander into the room by accident. God brought me there so I trusted Him to make something of it.

We flipped pages in Bibles (and flipped and flipped and flipped), joked, talked, laughed and prayed together. I'm not sure if any great truths were learned, but that's not my job. I was to show up with a lesson. God is the one who gives it light.

My delightful time with them taught me an important lesson. I'm no theologian or amazing orator. I'm old school to teenagers and a whippersnapper to seniors. In any group of people, the only unique quality I have is myself and my relationship with God. If I don't give that, I'm offering nothing special.

Oh, and have you guessed the secret to feeling younger? Hang out with people older than you!

Running and Growing Old Gracefully

I'm convinced the person who coined the phrase, "growing old gracefully" had to have been a man. A man doesn't worry about how to get their eyeliner straight on a droopy eyelid. The gray at a man's temples is "distinguished." Men's wrinkles give them character. Women's wrinkles are just wrinkles.

I'm feeling frustrated with my advanced age again. I've been back to my new running routine for the last couple of weeks and doing pretty well. I've run my own race, not trying to keep up with my friend. My knee's been feeling good. I've increased my distance. Last Friday I actually ran 3 miles straight (although at the pace I was going, calling it "running" may be a stretch)! A 5K was totally in my grasp.

And then on Saturday, as I got to about the one mile mark, I felt a pull in my right calf. I was able to run through it and make it to 2.5 miles, but the leg was sore the rest of the weekend. On Monday, I decided to be smart about it and baby it along a little. I rode a bike and lifted weights instead of running. At the same time, two of my friends (two of my YOUNGER friends) ran on treadmills across the room. As we left the gym for the day, I couldn't stop my curiosity and asked them, "How far did you guys run today?"

They tried to be very nonchalant about it and gloss over it for my sake, but the facts spoke for themselves. They'd gone 4.3 miles. 4.3 MILES! I got in my vehicle and actually chanted out loud, "Run your own race. Run your own race. Run your own race!"

And then on Monday night, I noticed my ankle and area around my heel were swelling up. There was no pain, but it was definitely not normal. Great, I thought, now I'm retaining fluid! Am I really that old?! The swelling kept getting worse and by Wednesday I thought it bad enough to ask my medical professional friend about it. His diagnosis? Not a pulled calf muscle, but a strained Achilles tendon. Grrr. "What is my problem?!" I whined to him. He tried to be gentle as he suggested the body breaks down more often the longer it's been used. "Even professional athletes who are in great shape have this happen as they get older," he reminded me. He was trying to assure me it had nothing to do with my fitness level, but all I heard was, "You're gettin' old, Tam."

BLEH.

My mother and a friend of mine have suggested this running gig may not be a good idea for me. To be honest, I'm not enjoying it that much, but have this intense desire to reach my goal of a 10K. Am I trying to prove I'm not old? Am I thinking that keeping up with the whippersnappers will make me young? (Oh brother, using the word whippersnapper in the first place just aged me thirty years.) Am I fighting the natural progression my body wants to take? Does pushing myself in this area mean I'm NOT growing old gracefully?

I'm not sure what the answer is, but I know I'm learning a lot about humility. God continually reminds me to run my own race, which I'm finding is a good LIFE lesson. Learning to ignore the pace of others and concentrate on my own journey will stop the comparison games. That's got to be a key component in growing old gracefully, right?

Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

Isaiah 46:4

I have to finish this race. I have to complete my goal. Don't worry, Mom, I'll be smart about it. I'll baby my injuries and take it slow. I'll rely on God's promise to sustain me and hopefully learn the art of gracious aging.

I Hate My Mirror

Stupid thing. All it shows is . . .

More gray.
More age spots.
More sag.
More wrinkles.

Aren't I getting too old to be vain? Shouldn't I be embracing my maturity, delighting in the joy of many good years? Bleh.

And why do I only do this to myself?

When I think about women older than me, I don't gravitate to their age spots or skin (unless I'm admiring the softness). I see the person, the way their eyes shine when they laugh or how the wrinkles around their mouth accentuate their smile. I appreciate their wisdom, their quiet strength which doesn't have to tell you what they've been through, their gentleness, their empathy, their warmth. I don't look at other women the way I look at myself. Why do I do it to me?

How can I be this old and still get caught in the vanity trap?

Stupid mirror? No. Stupid Tami.

Sounding My Age

Having all the chickies in the nest for the last week has caused me to say the oddest things, like:

"Isn't this nice, to be together under the same roof?"
"This is fun, all six of us going out."
"Isn't this great, the whole fam in one place?"

For some reason, hearing these words come out of my mouth made me feel instantly older. Haven't these phrases been uttered by my mother, my grandmother? When did I reach their age? When did I start sounding like someone in another generation?

When I reached it.

Sigh. Though I don't feel any older, I'm still aging. I'm edging into the next generation. I guess I think of myself as eternally in my twenties until I realize I have a child that old. Yikes! Where did time go? And what can I do about it?

How about I just enjoy it? There is something good about every age, isn't there? I don't have to worry about losing baby fat left over from pregnancy ever again. I'm done with braces and middle of the night feedings. Gone are the days of awkward conversations with boys and figuring out how to be an adult. I no longer have to put off Christmas shopping until I get my bonus check two days before Christmas. Having a sick kid doesn't necessarily mean I'm bound at home. I can stay out as late as I want or go to bed as early as I please. I don't have to line up babysitters or be home at a certain time for the sake of the children. My wardrobe has expanded as my daughters have grown. I'm healthy enough to do anything I put my mind to.

Yep, this is a good age. And next year will bring something good and so will the year after that and every year to come. I only have to look for it. It's time to embrace my age and enjoy it.

Now remind me of all this when my birthday rolls around in a few weeks, okay?



Photo Credit: Vincent van der Pas

Whacked

There's been a strange development in my realization of my own aging process (you will recall the gray eyelash horror of a few months ago). It is a moot practice of mine to pluck out the gray hairs winging out of my head. I'm finding an odd phenomena. It is not uncommon for me to pull what I think is a gray hair and find gray on the end, but black at the root, like it started out gray and changed its mind. Then the other day the hair I yanked was red. I think it's official, folks. My hormones are completely whacked out.

While we're discussing vanity, let me address the latest challenge in the blogosphere--displaying your morning face. Part of me thought I had nothing to lose. I haven't ever posted pictures of myself and so no one would be in for a shocker to see how I REALLY look, but then I wondered if I wanted my official unveiling to be me at my worst! It's not like I don't go out in public without makeup on. Those of you who have bumped into me at the Y have seen me in all my ?glory?. I honestly considered doing it, putting myself out there, I really did until I started seeing all the faces popping up, women the same age as me, looking pretty darn good for just getting out of bed. Where are your dark circles? People really have nicely flowing hair in the morning?! And dang you, Lisa Samson for haunting me with this, "Will you post who you really are? Without embellishment, as the morning sun, or the alarm, or a husband or a child sees you when you first open your eyes to meet the day? And if not, ask yourself why not?" Now I'm analyzing myself again. Trust me, I don't need any help with this! UGH!

Is it not enough I let you all see my guts?! I have to show you my physical weaknesses as well? This blogging thing is gettin' tough.

I choose NOT to take the Morning Face Challenge. Yes, let the clucking begin. I am a big, fat chicken. My physical attributes will remain a mystery to some of you. Who knows, you might conjure up some really hot chick in your imagination of who I might be. How could I bust your bubble?