A Truthful Mirror Doesn't Need to Flatter

Rereading my last blog I was reminded of one wardrobe mirror I have that’s flattering to me. It makes me look about 2 inches taller and 30 pounds slimmer. I know that it’s not true but I check myself in it occasionally anyway and it makes me feel better. Have you ever walked through a hall of mirrors? You know, the ones at state fairs? They are amusing but you know they lie. There are some religions that forbid the use of mirrors. They say mirrors disobey the second commandment. Well, if a mirror reflects the truth or not it tells you one thing, that a person called by your name is present.

A friend of mine used to say, “You, sitting there in that chair, tell me that you are, but you, sitting in that chair, do not tell me what you are.” He was expressing the same idea St. Paul did when he said we see “through a glass, darkly.” It behooves us all to clean up our lens or get a better one. The vision of the most enlightened individuals who have ever trod this earth in the past, many who are doing so right now, and all who will do so in the future, gives us hope. John saw “a new heaven and a new earth.” Jesus described his Father’s house as one containing “many mansions.” Other sages have tried to describe their visions of life in a higher realm.

Just sit down with a pencil and pad, close you eyes for a few moments and think how you would describe a better life, a better world, a better sense of being. Then write down your ideas. It’s a good exercise.

My husband used to say, “If I were God and I looked at this world the way it is today I’d go back to the drawing board!” But I know that he knew that the way we see our world is not the way God sees it. God just has a better window, a better lens, or a better mirror, even better vision, perfect vision. It’s not a flattering one, it’s just a truthful one. The prophet, Habakkuk, said it this way, “Thou art of purer eyes than to behold evil, and canst not look on iniquity:...” and he goes on to explain that if this were not true, how could God see the world as we see it and not do something about it? 

Haven’t we all questioned God this way at times? But seldom do we stop to think that the reason God does not see evil is the mere fact that there is no evil. Evil is only a lie and God sees right through lies just as we do when we see the railroad tracks come together in the distance. As we grow spiritually close to God we begin to see more intelligently, more clearly, that God’s creation is as He pronounced it to be in the beginning, “very good.”

Now, I suppose I’m attempting to make up for the hall of mirrors expressed in my last blog. I don’t want to see anyone, much less myself, “through a glass darkly.”  Nor do I want to see a fake paradise out of imagination. I just want to see the way God sees. I can make this my goal and work toward it or I can go on, as I often do, being a “sluggard in the race.” I really do believe that a sincere seeker for truth is the happiest of all. It’s a wonderful quest to travel along that path, especially with others who are going the same direction. Mark Twain was once asked if he’d choose heaven or hell in the hereafter. He thought a minute and then said wryly, “Well, I reckon I’d choose heaven for the climate, but that other place for the company.” Since God is everywhere I’d look for the right vision to be able to see myself and all others in good company and enjoying the best of weather in heaven. 

Have a great day!

  

"Mom, You Need To Pick Up Your Feet"

When my daughter, Robin, told me I was shuffling that’s when I decided to look for a cane. Way back in my blogs you can read about that in a piece called Stanley, My Sidekick. Then I saw my new cane in a positive way. To me it looked sporty, or maybe even aristocratic. Lately I have to admit, I need that cane. And with it I am better able to take Robin’s advice and pick up my feet. No one thinks of me as old because of that cane, do they?

I thought not at first but now I think I was wrong. People stepped aside for me, made a path, hastened to open doors or help me over curbs. Was that because of my cane? Oh well, that was not altogether bad, but when I’d catch a glimpse of myself passing a store window I didn’t like the impression. I hadn’t noticed before that my back, which had always been erect, was beginning to hunch over a bit. Was that the fault of the cane? Well, by then I liked the feel of the cane. It gave me security, prevented the occasional walk which might give just a hint of “one too many.” I knew I could walk unaided with Stanley quite nicely inside my house, but he was good company outside, like having a handrail at my side. Stanley stayed.

I do have to admit though that I’ve become a little surprised at how I’ve changed in just the last year or two. I sometimes feel like I’m playing a part in some play where I’ve been cast as an elderly lady. That’s it. Playing a part. Grasping the fact that in any given room I’m probably one of the oldest has crept up on me too. I always used to think I was one of the youngest, and perhaps I was. When did that change?

I can tell you when it changed. Just before I started writing this blog. I saw the years piling up and began to wonder how I could put a positive spin on that. But the mere admission of age and old age in particular soon began to ricochet and symptoms began to spook me.  Like the mirror over the sink in the bathroom and cameras whose pictures made me ask, “Who’s that?.” Before I’d been not nearly so focused on age, good or bad. 

True, I have found a number of good things about these added years and I like to say, “I prefer getting old because the alternative can't be so nifty!” But that puts me in the position of having to prove it. When I was a kid I loved to run, swim, roller skate, even ice skate and ski. Later I rode bicycles, and much later I played golf with my husband, and even went jogging with him until I thought better of that. I don’t have any desire to act young or do those things anymore but neither do I want to act old. And that’s exactly what if feels like, that I’m acting. Can this really be me? I ask myself when I notice that I’m wobbling or stuttering or slumping. 

So, what do I do? I start thinking about how I can do better. Pray, get organized, stay sharp in my mind and quit shuffling. Straighten up, I tell myself. Use your cane, but use it as if it were not a necessary appendage. Moving to The Willows is going to help me a lot. There are many interesting activities one can participate in but they are not mandatory. People are all genuinely considerate, friendly and loving. I find myself admiring the beauty in others whether they use a cane, a walker, or not.

I walked over to no. 312 this morning to see how the guys are progressing with my new home and when I opened the door, gloryosky! the new flooring has been installed! It is a light hardwood and it’s beautiful! It’s in the entry, the hallway, and the dining room. One day soon I’ll see new sinks in the kitchen and bathroom as well as new fixtures and countertops. Then there will be beautiful new carpeting, a general finishing touch to everything, curtains hung, and final inspection.

I did something yesterday that I hadn’t planned to do so soon. I found a lovely new sofa-bed and a perfect dinette set. My old lady self said, “Wait, this is the first you’ve seen except on-line.” My younger spontaneous self said, “But these are perfect! The money is in the bank. Well, practically. Why do I need to think it over?” Guess which one won.

These new pieces of furniture are all I need or want now for the new home. The store is holding them for me (after paying for them, of course,) and they will move in with me whenever the jobs are done. I’m grateful and glad. There are a few left-overs in the fridge which I’ll now warm up. I’m feeling hungry, I’m feeling blessed, and even if I’m getting older, things are certainly getting better for me in a host of ways. Guess I’ll go on blogging. No need to change the name of the blog just yet.

   

Little Home, Someone's Looking for You

My little Quail Creek home has been on the market for only three short weeks. Thanks to the help of our one-in-a-million seller’s agent, Virginia,  it was emptied, cleaned, repainted, given a new bedroom carpet, and nicely staged with a potted plant, a table and two chairs. Oh, yes, my plain comfy rocking chair, hand-crafted by an Amish farmer was there too. It looked so inviting! Last Sunday there was an Open House.

“Now you have an assignment,” Virginia said to me and my family. “Pray!”

How did I pray? At first I asked just that question, how should I pray? Immediately the thought came, “Turn away from your own need and pray for the one who is looking for just this particular home. Now, that was a switch. I knew where the idea had first come to my mind. Back in 1953 my husband, myself, our two young sons, about seven and five, and our little shaggy dog found ourselves near Chicago in Glenview, Illinois where Wally had been sent to be the Commander of the Naval Air Station for the next two years.

Every time we’d moved, and that had been often, the problem of finding a home had seemed challenging, but this time it seemed impossible. First, it was wintertime, cold, wet, dark and totally inhospitable! The only motel in town was run down, untidy and gloomy. Around Glenview people owned their homes. There was nothing to rent except one country house that literally leaned to one side on its foundation. Inside the floors were covered with chipped and stained linoleum, the windows grimey and the woodwork,,,well, I could go on, but won’t. The place was the only one in our price range, $125. a month. (Remember, this was 1953.) 

Sunday came along and we managed to get ourselves presentable enough to attend church and Sunday school. After the service a host of young people our age welcomed us. That was one plus. Another plus was that the sun had come out, the wind died down, and we could visit with our new friends outside without shivering.

Then a petite elderly white haired woman was introduced to us. “Where do you live,” she asked. I told her, “Well, actually, we’re still looking for a place to live.”

With merry blue eyes and a big smile her response was a cheery, “Oh, it’s looking for you!” She was so positive I thought her next words would give us an address, or at least a lead. But then I realized she was just stating the truth. Someone else soon caught her attention and we went to a local eatery and then back to the motel carrying a fat weekend Chicago newspaper. The comics would entertain the boys for a while.

As we passed by the office the attendant said, “You had a call while you were away. Here’s the number.”

Wally thanked him and then asked to borrow the phone. After hanging up he said, “That was the real estate man. He has something for us, but I warn you, it’s another country house.” Well, it would beat spending all day in the motel.

Again, the realtor did not accompany us but gave us the address. When we found the number on the mailbox I said, “This can’t be it. This place is beautiful, and it’s huge! It was, indeed, a large white house set far back from the road on a super wide lawn. A curving tree-lined driveway led up to it. 

The next house was not quite so big. “Let’s stop here and see if these people can tell us anything,” I said. It turned out that this house was the home of the owner of the first and yes, the big house next door was for rent. 

(I can see this blog is getting too long so here I’ll abbreviate and get to the end of my story.) The owner had built the big house by putting three houses together back during the war when building materials were hard to get. His wife had refused to live in it and he was willing to rent it to us and, without any bargaining on our part said, "$150. a month is the rent, but I don’t want to hear from you if anything goes wrong, You just treat the place as if it’s yours. There's a gang mower out in the garage you can use, but you mow the lawn, call the plumber, fix the furnace if it quits or whatever. Just pay me the rent.”

We lived there two years. Our baby girl was born in that house, and I have many fond memories of it. The real estate man, I suspect, had finagled the rent with the owner and we had only a few minor fix-it jobs. The little white haired lady became a good friend, and I’ve never forgotten what she said that day. 

So, as I started to pray about my condo I didn’t start with a prayer that it would sell and my own needs would be met. I said, “Father, I know there must be someone looking for just such a place as this. They need a home and they’re looking for it, even now. You are guiding them, and they will be happy to find it. Thank You!”

So, last Sunday when we had the open house this couple walked in. “We’ve been looking for just a place like this for our daughter,” they said. "And we can pay you the full price with cash.” 

My real estate friend and I went over the papers yesterday. The escrow is due to close on Valentine’s day. “I can’t thank you enough for all your work,” I told her. She said, “You’re welcome, but remember, you prayed, God answered, and we can all thank Him.” My mind went back to the little white-haired lady who knew just what to say so long ago. Home looks for us as we look for it, and prayer gets the looker and the looked-for together. Now isn't that neat?   

  

A Lesson Hard to Learn

“Don’t worry about it. Things will turn out all right in the end.” These words can be comforting or they can be an irritation. I looked up the word “worry” and it means to allow one’s mind to dwell on difficulty or troubles. Knowing that I’m allowing my mind to do this calls for another way to tackle the problem. A problem won’t go away by worrying over it, so what will make it go away? 

I have a friend who talks to God as if He were her servant. “Now God, I need you to watch over my grandchild. He’s in trouble and I can’t help but You can.” She has great faith in God which I admire but the idea of telling God to do His work, like ordering a servant, seems odd to me. Still, because of her faith she gets results.

The only way I can take the words “Don’t worry...” seriously is to also take the other words, “Things will turn out all right in the end” seriously. Then I need to bring the “end” right into the now. The way I do that is by acknowledging that God’s work is done, His kingdom is come. Then I find the faith to let the problem go and open my mind to the solution.

Someone has said, “It’s God’s business to take care of us and it’s our business to let Him.” This doesn’t mean to do nothing, but it does mean to allow God to guide in thinking and doing the right thing at the right time. Allowing worry to blind us to right thought and action is certainly not the right thing at any time!

Sometimes I feel helpless in helping someone I love. Worry makes me feel in need of help. Then I find encouragement in looking back at times I’ve been helped when things looked terribly worrisome. Faith, (not blind faith but the kind of faith that is “the substance of things hoped for,”) can work wonders if I allow faith to occupy my thoughts instead of worry.

You see, when things seem to be working out so well for me it almost shames me to see others in dire need of the very things I’m enjoying for myself. So that’s when I need to let God help them even if I can’t and not allow myself to worry and dwell on difficulties or troubles. 

God’s goodness can reach every one on the whole wide earth. I’ll do what I can to share in what’s been given to me, but I need to remember that the only dependence that is unfailing is dependence on God.

In our advancing years we can’t just sit around and twiddle our thumbs! I’m reminded of a story I once read. An elderly fellow was working in his garden and was called out to his gate by a neighbor. After chatting a while the neighbor said, “Say, Joe, every time I pass your place I see you out working. You’ve worked all your life. Don’t you think you deserve to just sit on your porch now and take it easy?”

Joe’s answer came out in a slow drawl something like this: “Well, I do see your point, my friend, but then again I don’t see any point in dying before my time's come!”

I woke up this morning about four o’clock worrying about someone I love. Funny, isn’t it, how we tend to let love haul a bag of worries? It just isn’t fitting! I had to get up and set my mind straight. Blogging does it, every time!

About Retirement

I’ve been thinking about the advantages of old age and retirement lately, and here is a sample of what's turning up.

1. Retirement should never become decline-ment. 

Oh, yes, I know we often scoff at the idea of retirement. Retirement can have its negative side, but look at the positive. If we’re not still eager to preserve our youthful activities too much we might find that there’s a whole new world of mental and spiritual activity to discover. Many of us oldsters are happily spending more time seeking out answers to life. I call this kind of retirement exercise, tough work and a great occupation! 

2. Retirement can be a growing time.

Growing old need not be seen as growing worse if we can see it as a time of discovery. How many of us have trapped ourselves in brick walls of personal opinion and common belief? Well, there’s a real pleasure in getting out a mallet and slamming those walls down! The first Beatitude lauds those who are “poor in spirit.” The reward for this is the kingdom of heaven!

3. Retirement can be a time of restoring our faith.

Why give up and give in to the so-called inevitable accompaniments to old age? If we see life as heaven on earth we can explore it "through the valley of of the shadow of death," not as an end called death.

4. Retirement can be a time of putting our good intentions to work.

Somewhere we’ve heard that “the road to hell is paved with the bones of good intentions.” That need not be our fate!

5. Retirement can be joyous and invigorating. 

Knowing the omnipresence of good instead of engaging in unkind criticism, and idle observation of the oddities and infirmities of ourselves and others, gives us ample work.  Someone has said, “Negative criticism is the public acknowledgment of one’s inability to see the Christ in man.” A friend of mine used to say, “What you see is what you be.”

6. Retirement is a time of working to end evil. 

So, I think that’s not possible? So I don’t even try? Well, then. at least I can acknowledge that that’s what God is doing and follow suit. It’s work that invigorates us spiritually and mentally.

7. Retirement is a time to accept Eternity.

We may think what we like about this but I choose to believe that, having accepted the gift of life, it cannot be taken away, not even by our consent. So, we’d better make the best of it,  For this we need divine help. In all our years we can choose to be ageless. An astronomer once told me that we’ve all been alive as long as life began. He said. “We’re made out of star dust, literally.” I say we’re made out of God, Spirit. By the way, how old is God? How does God keep from aging? It says in the Bible that God rests. He/She must know how to rest in action. It doesn’t say that God quits! We oldsters should not be quitters! 

Note to my readers: Please forgive me when I get on my soap box. You who know me know I’m mainly preaching to myself. Something in the morning air is to blame for it.

Keep On Rowing Your Boat!

Who doesn’t remember singing a “round” in school? If you started school way back when I did, you no doubt know the old one that goes: 

"Row, row, row your boat

Gently down the stream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream."

Aside from the catchy tune and the fun of singing the round, the words may be truer than any of us know. Dreams are mortal. In our dreams we rarely think we’re dreaming. Yet about one-third of our 24 day and night most of us are asleep and that’s when we dream.

I wonder if the person who wrote this little ditty glimpsed a solemn fact? Is life itself merely a dream? If so, I can’t help wondering when and how we’ll wake up. David, the shepherd boy who grew up to be king of Israel, must have glimpsed this idea when he wrote and sang, “I shall be satisfied when I awake in Thy likeness.” 

As pleasant as dreams sometimes are, they never give us total satisfaction. A thing can’t be satisfying when it ends. Only when, and if, we awake to a reality of life, a totally good life without beginning or end, can we be truly satisfied. If such a life exists, then it must be that it will never end and never began. Life, that real life, must be whole, perfect, satisfying and eternal. Then what must this earthly thing we call life be? A dream? 

At this stage of my life I occasionally think of the ending. What will it be like? Like a dream that ends, an awakening to another more real sense of life? Many believe that death is the waking up time. In death it is supposed that we are no longer fooled into believing the dream. And if, as we hope, this awakening brings us back to a better, more harmonious sense of life, a permanent one, then death must be something to welcome. But what if it turns out to be just another dream? It could then be better or worse than the one we entertain now. 

Can’t you see how such reasoning is like a round we sing? Over and over and over. This morning I’m thinking, as I’ve often thought before, that I’d like this round of dreams to end. I’m thinking, too, that it is not enough to wish for a better dream-sense of life. I want the real thing. And I believe that the real, and only life there is, is the divine Life we call God. Therefore, to know God better is to lay claim to a better sense of Life. Life without beginning or end.

Of all the things I like here in this dream none can equal this desire for not just a better life but the one divine Life, the only real Life. Why? Because that Life includes all good. It has no room, not the tiniest space, for evil or error. It is totally trustworthy, satisfying, wonderful and fun. It must be more fun than imagination can dream up. Glimpsing this divine Life, my human life, the dream I’m in, has to reflect more of the totally good Life that is God. 

We so-called senior citizens should not despair if the dream we’re in gets hazy, ceases to satisfy, or causes us to wish for an end. As with our night dreams, this temporal sense of life we’ve been educated to believe is real, will end. Nights will become shorter until “there is no night there,” as the Bible predicts. 

This time of the mortal dream is not bringing us closer to death but to Life divine. That, I believe, is what my human experience has been and continues to be, - a trip to Understanding. So, we should not be struggling to enhance our dream but rather to wake up. Here’s another song I like. It is not sung as a round but when I start singing it it’s hard to quit:

“When the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbin’ along, along, 

There’ll be no more sobbin’ when he starts throbbin’ his old sweet song. 

‘Wake up! wake up, you sleepy head! 

Get up, get up, get out of bed! 

Cheer up, cheer up, the sun is red. 

Live, love, laugh and be happy!”

Be they good or bad, I suppose dreams have some purpose. Maybe to help us learn how to get out of them? Like a chick, I’ll keep pecking at my shell until I make it. Now, that’s something to look forward to and be glad about! 

What's Worth Writing About?

To an inveterate writer almost anything is worth writing about. Here’s a sample:

When I lifted the tiny silverfish I found in the bathroom sink onto a piece of paper and took him (her?) out the front door this morning I stopped a minute to wish the little creature a happy life and a good day. To me, that's worth writing about.Then I noticed again that something was notably different here. What was it? The sounds. At Quail Creek the little waterfalls that gurgle and shout dominate the audible surroundings. Here there’s a hush that accentuates the skitter of leaves on the sidewalks and streets when a breeze blows by. And I can hear the wild birds. I, obviously, have thought it worth writing about.

I like differences. I like changes too. Changes are worth writing about. They freshen the senses and lead you on to new chapters in life. I suppose I’m more aware of this now because of the many changes I’m experiencing in my everyday rounds. I had my hair washed last Friday in the little beauty shop that’s been here since forever. Thuviet (sp?) still manages it as she did when I worked here as the receptionist twenty some years ago. She remembered me, as do most of the workers here, and made me feel right at home although I haven’t patronized a beauty shop for a hair-do for something like fifty years. Hair is easy to let grow, cut the edges, keep clean and rolled up. If I counted all the money I’ve saved by doing it myself I’d not feel guilty about splurging on a huge featherbed and down pillows as I did the other night by calling in to Macy’s last day of the sale. 

Well, now I’ve decided to let Thuviet wash my hair every other week. With Robin’s agreement to have time with me at least once a week to drive me shopping or whatever, I can take other outings on the buses the Willows provide. I call it a luxury to give up driving myself. Today will be one of our days together. Time with my dear daughter is a precious luxury.

Wally K, my elder son, has become my accountant and watches over the payment of bills, the bank balance, and other business affairs. That, too, is a luxury! David still works full time in Simi Valley, but he would come at the drop of a hat if I needed him. So, children are my greatest luxury, and that's worth writing about!

Have I mentioned that I’ve been having housekeeping service once a week here? It is a perk for visitors but I’ll be a paying patron and Maria says she will come and clean for me as often as I need her (maybe every other week) when I move into my own place. I learned yesterday that there will be special help provided at moving time too. What a luxury is that!

Naturally a writer writes about whatever he or she wishes. Sometimes I’ve wondered if the title to my blog isn’t a bit deceiving. Some writers might think it more honest to elaborate on the trials, the ooches and owies of old age. It's not that I don't experience these at times but when I get through them I say to myself, “Why would you want to write about that? Look at all you have to be grateful for! Sister, you’re advancing years are the frosting on the cake! Good company, helping hands, intellectual stimuli, spiritual growth, little luxuries, family, and sunshine in the seventies in January!” What is this writer going to do about all that? Write about it, of course! 

Goodbye, little silverfish, wherever you are now. I'm glad I didn't squish you just because I'm bigger than you. After all, there's some question as to whose territory is being invaded here. When Abraham Lincoln was walking with a friend one day he saw a snake on the path. "Kill it!" said his companion. Lincoln replied, "Naw, his life is as precious to him as mine is to me." That, too, I think, is worth writing about.