What do you want
Writer John Jones asks a thought-provoking question: “It’s worth asking: What is it you want? It gets harder to answer as you get older. The answer gets subtler and subtler.” In twenty-four hours after I type these words I will have another birthday. This thought by John Jones helps me to remember some of my birthday “wants” As I look back; my “wants” have certainly changed over the years. I imagine yours have also.
When I was seventeen, I wanted to get older as soon as possible. I was not that “cute” sweet-sixteen-and-never-been-kissed girl any more. If I was eighteen, I would be considered an adult. I could drive a car by myself, stay out later; I could even get married without my parents’ permission, but not when I was seventeen. I wanted to become older.
When I was twenty and pregnant with our first child, I wanted a boy – because my husband wanted a son. He had grown up surrounded by five sisters, so he thought he needed a boy. As it turned out that particular baby was a girl. The doctor told Pete that we would probably have more children and this girl would be a big help raising the younger children. The doctor was right; my husband ultimately raised two boys into adulthood (plus another girl).
When I was thirty-one, I wanted more hours in the day. At that time I was teaching English full time at Anderson High School (then it seemed like I always had a passel of essays to grade), and trying to maintain a home for our four children and my husband. About that time, the church for which my husband served as pastor decided to build a new building on Plum Street and my days filled up completely with more activities.
When I was forty-six I wanted the silence in our home to go away. In the fall of that year, our youngest child left home and the quiet in our house became deafening. For about twenty-five years, we had lived with phones ringing, music playing from all parts of the house, other children than our own hanging around, a constant sound and movement all the time. In other words, our home had been filled with the noise and bluster of raising children; now they were gone, building lives of their own and the quiet was a bit overwhelming.
When I was sixty-eight, I wanted time to heal the hole in my heart because my husband died. I still miss him. Forty-one years taking insulin shots, Pete lost the battle with diabetes which wracked his body and stopped his heart. Many of you know what it is to deal with a loved one who is extremely sick. There is little hope for recovery and a part of you says the person needs and deserves the freedom from pain and a good rest. But this is your lover, one you depended on, your best friend, part of your very being. So a hole in your heart opens when a loved one passes and it take time for it to heal before you can go on.
Now I am in my nineties I want physical balance to keep from falling and mental stamina so that I can still add two and two. Most of all, I want the grace to be kind at all times. God has certainly blessed my life.