On being OLD.

A few weeks ago, my mom and I were driving back from Wal-Mart (the classiest retail shopping center within a 60 mile radius) when I noticed something in my reflection in the rear-view mirror. It wasn't just something. It was radiating a brilliant, white glow from the top of my head, bouncing the sunshine right back out of the sunroof from whence it came.

It can't be.

I stared closer, nearly forgetting I should be focused on the road instead. But this, my friends was a crisis. Because what I saw was what no woman ever wants to see. It's especially something this 26 (you read me right, only TWENTY SIX) year-old woman wants to see.

Gray. Hair.

Actually, it wasn't gray, it was white. Stark white. And it wasn't just one.

I yanked the car over in the parking lot of the local bank and forced my mom to conduct a closer inspection. I should have known by the cackles of laughter emitting from her deepest parts that the situation was dire. I, ladies and gentlemen, had a gray (white) hair INFESTATION.

Apparently, and without my knowledge, at some point within the last few months, my body decided to start playing tricks on me. You go to bed one night thinking the world is at your finger tips and the next morning, BAM, you're a poster child for Clairol.

I eventually "took care" of the problem. (My apologies to my stylist, Deborah, for not waiting for the professional job.) And, I eventually got over the shock and awe. But it got me thinking a lot about aging.

It also doesn't help that Jacob just turned ONE and I've been spending the past few days watching videos and looking at pictures from his first few months in life. (He was so quiet, WHAT HAPPENED??) It's incredible to see how much babies grow and develop within such a short time. In 12 months, he's grown leaps and bounds. Once, he depended on me for everything: I provided his nourishment, I carried him from place to place, etc. Now, he's totally content to do everything, or TRY to do everything on his own. He feeds himself, walks wherever he desires, grabs whatever toy (or bug) he's looking for... the kid is like a tiny grown up. How did this happen?!

Getting older. We're all doing it. I don't know about you, but that thought scares me at some moments.

Another occasion in Wal-Mart (you guys, that's the only place to go in this town, okay? Don't judge.),  I was with Jacob, walking out the door and saw an elderly man sitting on a bench near the exit. He was reading the local paper. Not unusual. But, I noticed the way he looked at people as they passed. He wanted us to meet his eyes. He wanted some verbal exchange. His hands shook, as well as his head, as he struggled to concentrate his eyes on the tiny print on the pages in front of him. He was old.

After exchanging greetings and smiles with this sweet stranger, I walked to the car. I looked at Jacob. And I cried. I didn't cry because I pitied him. I cried because I realized that could be my son one day. Aging, lonely, and frail. That could be Brian. It will be me one day. I'm getting old. We're all getting old.

Of course, after I snapped out of my hormonal fit, I came to the realization that aging is not entirely a bad thing. I guess it's just...strange. You see, I know a lot of you probably look at me and think my musings are laughable. I realize I'm still young. But, when I look in the mirror, I already have those moments of not recognizing the person I see. I still feel like that youthful, 20 year old who gets 10 or more hours of sleep each night and doesn't have bags under her eyes and isn't missing her ab muscles after they were stretched to their limit for 40 weeks (you're welcome, Jacob).

I know I'm not the only one who experiences this. I know aging isn't some...thing I've discovered. It's happening to every one, every moment. And for me, it's become a daily reminder of the fact that this life is ending. Whether or not you want to accept the words I'm about to write doesn't diminish the truth: we're all dying. Our bodies were meant to age. They do that from day one. We, of course, try to take an optimistic approach and call it "growing". But, it is what it is.

So, upon this revelation, I have to ask myself: What am I doing with my life? (Ah yes. Welcome to your late-20s, LL.)

Yeah, yeah. I know. I've got my roles and responsibilities: Stay-at-home mom by day (for now), binge Netflix watcher by night. But what about the in-betweens? Those coming and going moments?

I'll be honest. Thinking about all of this, I've realized that I've spent a lot of days doing a lot of mundane things that won't make any type of dent in my life or anyone else's. Sure, down time is great. But I bet I'd be pretty embarrassed to know the hours I've wasted mindlessly watching a television show on Netflix when I could've been on the phone having encouraging conversations with a friend or family member. I could've been digging into scripture and challenging myself to know more about why I believe what I believe. I could've been praying for those who I know are hurting or lost. I could've taken a gift to my elderly neighbor just to let her know someone is thinking of her.

I've got the physical evidence that I'm not going to be young forever. And, as a believer, I trust that one day I'll stand before our Creator and give an account of the work I've done here in this life, but... will it be worthwhile?

My biggest fear is wasting my life, but I sure don't seem too motivated to do anything about it most days. A lot of times, I take the platform God has given me for granted. Brian's job gives me access to a group of students who are willing to share their lives with me and allow me to share mine with them. I have the opportunity to influence them in the best way possible and share the love of Jesus with them in a seriously tangible way. Hours I could spend praying for and investing in them are sometimes spent doing way less important things.

So perhaps now when I look in the mirror and see that tired, albeit still young, woman staring back at me, I'll be reminded of the years that have passed and the moments that are passing. Maybe I'll be a little less concerned about what color to cover up my "crowns of glory" (blah, it's gray hair) and more concerned about remembering, in the time that I've been GIFTED, to let somebody know that they're loved more than they'll ever know.

Live purposefully. Because you have a purpose.
"...whatever you do, do all to the glory of God." 1 Corinthians 10:31

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This one's for you, Mama. Thanks for teaching me about the importance of each day being a gift. As you learn now how to live without YOUR mama, thank you for teaching me to reflect upon the good that a person did within their lifetime, and not being overcome with sorrow. I will forever be grateful to Mamaw for the motivation to be better each day and for the courage to live in such a way that when I leave this world, others might see that it's not about me... it's all about Him. 

And Mom? You're just as beautiful now as you were 26 years ago. THAT'S how I'll always see you.