I don’t know if everyone has, for lack of a better way to describe it, an eternal age, but I know I sure do. I mean—go ahead, keep counting if you want. Let every birthday add another year to your total--you’ve earned it. Even if you don’t keep counting--others will keep track for you—and keep reminding you of your real age.
I just can’t quite get past the feeling that I stopped getting older at age 27. No, I don’t mean physically. I have all the aches and pains you get when you are 20 years past that—plus, a few of the gray hairs to prove it. Okay, okay more than just a few-and wrinkles, too. But I also have the feeling that I have an eternal age –an age that I just am—it’s 27 and that’s honestly all the older I feel in my mind, my heart, my spirit. It’s just that little conflict I have when I look in the mirror—or when strangers ask me dumb questions that shock me into next week. For instance, I was holding my friend’s little baby and someone came up and said “Is that your grandchild? I was speechless. Would they ask someone else in their late twenties that question? How rude!
I probably take it a little harder just because my children are adopted from my husband’s first marriage and we’ve tried to have some but have had miscarriages. Plus, we recently tried to adopt and the adoption fell through. I’m not done trying to be a mother-so the GRANDMA question is hard for me. But really guys—C’mon. I’m only 27!
For those of us who believe in Resurrection and eternal life—and I am one of them. I don’t think we are going to be resurrected as a bunch of old folks (that is if we died when we were quite ag-ed. I think we will have an “age” that we will come back at. A vital age--one where we were full of life and ability. I’m pretty darn sure mine will be 27.
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