No, I'm not the Grandmother

I'm not one to stare at myself  in the mirror longer than I have to but I think my reflection has me fooled. A few weeks ago, I was dropping off my sweet baby in our church's nursery when a young lady (early twenties) looked at me and asked, "Are you her Grandmother?" I was completely mortified. I can't even recall how I responded.

Me with my 15 year-old niece

After all, I don't have any gray hair and I don't feel old. Like many, I'm on a vigorous pursuit of youthfulness which includes a healthful diet, physical exercise, and an optimistic attitude. I thought to myself, how could anyone look at me and think I'm old? After several days of pondering this mind-consuming topic and taking a very close look at myself in the mirror, it occurred to me that I do have a few more wrinkles than I did when I was 22. In fact, I began to see the humor in this juxtaposition of youth and age.





Admittedly, I was very annoyed at first by the very notion that someone would think of me as a grandmother but then I began to recall several of my friends who are Grandmothers at the young age of 42. I can assure you that they do not look old either. The perception of age is different for everyone. To that young girl, my age was too old to be a mother to a baby. But what is old?

I will avoid becoming too philosophical and just state that aging is a gradual, rhythmic process and its course and consequences are well known to everyone.We don't just go to bed and wake up old; we move, at our own pace, through the transition, only to ask ourselves at the age of 70, are we old?

It is a fact that I will be 62 years young when my daughter is 20. I hope that my years of experience and wisdom will only help her live an abundant life and age more gracefully than me.


I would like to share one of my favorite poems by William Butler Yeats.

When You Are Old

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,

And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,

And loved your beauty with love false or true,

But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,

And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,

Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled

And paced upon the mountains overhead

And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Let's end with Psalm 71, verse 18:
Now also when I am old and grayheaded, O God, forsake me not;
Until I have shewed thy strength unto this generation, and thy power to every one that is to come.