In the weeks leading up to my birthday, I noticed a few subtle signs of aging; but probably not the ones most readily associated with accumulating years . . .
I noticed that I have become the woman who sometimes has barely perceptible music playing in the background of her life. Like the ladies in offices when I was younger and used to wonder why they bothered at all when you couldn’t even make out the lyrics.
I get it now.
I’ve also noticed that fifty-something southern degrees barely constitutes flip-flop weather to me anymore . . . and that there is something particularly satisfying about crisp, cold celery. What I have known before, but cherish more deeply is that there is something particularly satisfying about being alive.
In unraveling myself from perfectionism, I have this refrain that undulates lately like ribbon inside of my soul . . .
it will feel like a dance if you let it.
. . . if I’m not the one who is ordering my steps, and if instead of struggling, I submit. If I wait with actual patience and adapt to the agility of open-handed plans . . .
What I’m receiving from God’s instruction to me lately is temperance to go with the gentleness, and pleasure to go with the rest. He is tempering me like good chocolate and I am ‘here for’ the consistency. I hear the word pleasure more often and consider what God must mean by it . . . ‘Let the Lord be magnified’, Psalms says, ‘who has pleasure in the prosperity of His servant’. And, ‘in His presence there is fullness of joy; at His right hand are pleasures forevermore’.
Forevermore like Melchizedek, with neither beginning of days nor end of life.
These days, three men’s voices seem to hold cyphered insights into the character of God . . . Roo Panes and Phillip LaRue and Andrew Belle. I’m listening to the same seven songs or so slowly and deeply, and hearing in them what’s happening around me . . .
So here I sat today to say tiny gray typeface things. And be thankful for a thoroughly celebrated birthday close to six weeks in the making, ha. From the time I took off for traipsing in the first week of October to the socially-distanced birthday parade my aunt organized for this past Saturday, and the Napoleon Dynamite viewing my diaphragm desperately needed. I am thankful for old and new friends who have fed me with lamb and dolma and salmon and cheesecake and good conversation . . . for siblings sending money through cyberspace and my parents through whom I was given this life.
And oh, what a glorious time to be alive. To live through God’s faithfulness in the midst of biblically epic historical events and upheavals . . . to walk the planet during this ending age of men.
It will feel like a dance if you let it . . . & &