Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
I’m at the stage of life in which retrospect takes on a different feeling, a different aura, if you will.
There have been so many launch-points in the course of my life. I’m not unique. We all experience the launches, but mine are unique to me.
My memories race through my launching into the world of learning. School was, for the most part, a joy to me. I don’t understand “hating” school. It opened so many doors, and I’m thankful for all the good teachers I had from kindergarten through high school. Sure, some of it was dull, some of it beyond my brain’s natural abilities and interests. But so much was enlightening, exciting, opening new doors of learning and possibilities.
College was it’s own launch, with lots of bumpy rides through first loves, first failures, first coping with being on my own. Some courses I loved. Others, not so much because the professors didn’t seem to love what-or whom-they taught. But it did set my feet in a path I have never regretted.
Marriage, the biggest launch-point of all. A young man who’s very posture showed his character; whose honesty was refreshing, and whose faith was new and exciting to see. If we had known what the course of our lives would be, would we have hesitated? I don’t think so. The first baby, a matter of wonder indeed to my husband, who had very little experience with pregnant women or newborn babies. The second, third, and fourth. Each precious life given into our keeping. Laughter, tears, hopes, disappointments, accomplishments; sickness, fear, relief and the humdrum of every-day life. How we loved them all, and still do.
Then their launches into adulthood, education, work, marriage, and babies of their own, and Terry and I were empty-nesters–and loving it. New challenges, though, came in the guise of pain, accidents, older bodies beginning to wear out and create the necessity of recognizing we were no longer able to do what we had done only a few years earlier.
Now, he is 74 and I am 70. Young old age, they say. Sometimes I look at him and see his mom or his dad as they were when we last saw them. The facial lines, the posture, the determination to keep on going in spite of pain and discomfort. Then I look at myself and see both my own parents, and I can’t believe how quickly the years have passed. We’re the grandparents of nine, the oldest of whom will be 20 next month. Good grief, there may be GREATgrands in our near future!
The absolute that has always stayed the same through all the years, for me and then for Terry and me, has been our faith in the God Who created us, and Who has blessed our lives as we have done our best to serve Him. Failures? Sure. We’re human. Forgiveness? Yes, and always hope for the future.
There’s one more launch ahead of us. One of us will be widowed one of these days, and that’s something I try to prepare for. I know, however, that grief is a dark valley that neither of us will enjoy, but that will be yet another instrument of growth, The knowledge that we both love God, that we will be reunited someday in heaven, is already a comfort.
Well, Terry just took off to cut 17 acres of grass down at our church, and in an hour I’ll be in my counseling office. I have four people to see today. Both of us still able and willing to work, to be of service, to reach out when and where we can to help others.