By Jessica Brodie
Have you ever thought you’d finally let go of toxic feelings, feelings like vanity or pride, only to realize they still had a grip on you after all?
I’ve always been one to embrace aging. While some people grumble about getting older, I actually enjoy my birthdays, taking time to celebrate the blessings and the joy of simply being alive. I find older women to be attractive and beautiful, admiring their confidence and poise. To me, someone doesn’t need to be in the bloom of youth to be considered “gorgeous.” True beauty begins within—with joy and laughter, with delight in the simple comfort of one’s soul, with knowing we are completely beloved by the Lord who created us. What a wonder we human beings are, are we not? Every one of us, all different shapes and ages and sizes, a stunning blend of God’s craftmanship, all living and breathing and interacting with one another.
Yet a certain dread began pooling within me recently … a nameless dread at first, though soon enough it became clear.
As a woman on the cusp of turning fifty, I began to realize what I was feeling. And one afternoon it hit me like a bitter slap in the face.
I … yes, I! … was struggling with the idea of aging.
How could this be? Why did I feel this way?
All evening I stewed, and when my husband and I lay on our pillows, I turned to him, my throat tight.
“I’m just not ready for this!” I blurted, two fat tears rolling down my cheeks. “How did I get here? I mean, I still remember turning twenty, then thirty. Forty was yesterday! How did this happen so fast? I still haven’t even accomplished half the things I’ve dreamed about doing at this stage in life!”
He held me, and we talked, and finally he gave me a sly look.
“You know,” he said, “I remember when we first met you told me you intended always to be a woman who aged with fierce confidence and grace.”
He’s right. I did say that.
I meant it, too.
The next morning, I laced up my sneakers, hit the treadmill, and remembered those words. And as I did, I stood up a little straighter.
Age truly is just a number. Whether I’m twenty or fifty or ninety, I’m still me—God’s beloved and precious daughter, beautiful because he made me and because of the God light that shines bright within me, nothing else.
As I write this, it’s the day before I celebrate my fiftieth birthday. By the time you read this, I’ll have joined the Fifties Club. Gone are those mixed feelings about “getting older.” Pshaw! Who needs that nonsense? I have breath in my lungs and joy in my heart, people to love and good work to do. I have a long line of amazing women before me who show me how it’s done… my mom and my mom-in-law, all my late grandmas and grandmas-in-law, my aunts and countless other role models who strut along that path with poise, dignity, and self-assurance.
And I get to pave the way for my sisters and daughters and so many others who walk the road behind me, looking to me to see how it’s done, just like I look to those who go before me.
We walk together, my friends.
And what a beautiful thing it is.
~
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