Time to Count the Cholesterol: On Turning 59

Alas! it is not till time, with reckless hand, 

has torn out half the leaves from the Book of Human Life, 

to light the fires of passion with, from day to day, 

that [wo]man begins to see 

that the leaves which remain are few in number.  – Longfellow, Hyperion, Bk. iv, ch. 8.

Today is my birthday.  I am 59.  Sigh.  I have no idea at all what that should mean.  Perhaps it means that it’s time to start counting my cholesterol.  Maybe I should have begun that exercise years ago.  Maybe not.

But really, what gets accomplished by 59 year olds?

Well, according to the Museum of Conceptual Art , at age 59:


Einstein achieved a major new result in the general theory of relativity.

English novelist and journalist Daniel Defoe wrote his first and most famous novel, The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe.

"Satchel" Paige became the oldest Major League baseball player.

Clara Barton founded the American Red Cross.

Cellist Nancy Donaruma retired from the New York Philharmonic to become a full-time paramedic.

After nine years of sacrificing in the United States, Ana Torres hired a shrimp boat and rode on it to get her sons out of Cuba during the Mariel boat lift

I am no Einstein, Defoe, Paige, Barton, Donaruma or Torres.

So what have I done with this gift of years?

I’ve spent 24 years in school . . . 35 going on 36 being a mom . . . 22 being a lawyer . . . 8 a preacher . . . owned my own business and worked for others . . . lived in a foreign country (Scotland – okay, so not all that foreign) . . . owned my own home . . . been blessed to be able to spend most of my work life doing things that mattered . . . hiked in the Rocky Mountains and on the Appalachian Trail . . . 

I’ve traveled to and through 33+ of these United States and 16 countries . . . 

I’ve lived through a Cold War and its end and the potential of its resumption . . . the assassinations of John F. Kennedy and his brother Robert, Martin Luther King, Jr., and countless others around the world . . . I’ve seen Neil Armstrong walk on the moon while in the safety of my living room . . . along with the Gulf War . . . the Iran-Iraq war . . . the U.S. invasion of Iraq . . . the wars in Afghanistan (Russian and U.S.-led) . . . Syria’s civil war . . . Viet Nam . . . Israel/Palestine again and again and yet again . . . 

Yet being a witness to history is not being a participant in it.

So what would be my accomplishments, given that I’ve yet to undertake the cholesterol-checking regimen?  

Maybe these things:

1. Standing up for others when they could not stand up for themselves.

2. Being a mom to some pretty fine kids.

3. Being a daughter to some pretty fine parents.

4. Cooking some pretty good meals.

5. Walking alongside some pretty amazing people.

6. Being an appreciative audience to some pretty fine performances.

7. Being a pretty good friend – sometimes.

8. Sharing lots of stories.

Of all that I have done, I have not kissed or been kissed nearly enough, danced enough, laughed enough or protested enough.


Perhaps there will be time and occasion for more.  It seems greedy to ask, but I hope so.

81 Years Isn't Enough Time to Tell a Life's Story

Cake – check . . . balloons – check . . . tiara – check . . . guests – check . . . moustaches – check . . .

and so it was on a sunny but cold March day that we gathered in celebration of 81 years well lived . . . to a soundtrack of Aaron Copeland and Carol King and Tony Bennett and Cyndi Lauper . . . and pictures spanning the Great Depression to the technological present . . .

a woman for whom the 1960's were defined not by taking to the streets, but by living out the making of a family one day, one scratched knee, one meat loaf, one dream postponed, one dream lived out, at a time . . .

with all the pictures and laughter and more pictures and music and more pictures and stories, 81 years just isn’t enough time to tell your story . . .

Happy Birthday, Mom!

What Happened and What I Said About It

What happened
I agreed to officiate an out-of-town wedding for the daughter of congregants and her husband-to-be who was then deployed overseas.  The date got moved from summer to February.  His return to the United States got pushed back and pushed back.  Finally home, we ended up doing the counseling bit via Skype.  The fairly predictable snow storm arrived in due course and so parents and I left a day early so as not to be stuck this side of the mountains.  Upon arrival at our hotel, forgetting that Virginia Beach is in the heart of the military-industrial complex, I was momentarily startled to see three men in military garb on balconies across the way apparently getting a bead on me (turned out they were wax figures at a local souvenir shop).  Family and friends gathered from near and far . . . stories were told . . . laughter and tears were had . . . the sun shone on the appointed day . . . nobody lost the marriage license or the rings . . . mama of the bride navigated the sand just fine with her newly accompanying cane . . . bride and groom shone like stars, as they do . . . the deed was done and all was well.

What I said
I did a wedding this weekend.

What happened
Maxine got very sick and spent many months battling leukemia, losing her struggle by inches with family and friends holding her up, she who held them up for so long, throughout.  In the last weeks, I spent more and more time at the house as those closer and closer struggled to learn the language of the dying, trying to be present when needed and to step aside when not.  We, all of us, held hands, laughed, cried, talked, whispered, ministered to, sang, and fell into silence.  And we prayed.  And she died.  And tomorrow we will observe the rituals of farewell and witness the resurrection and lay her to rest and eat a life-affirming meal together.  It will be a hard day, a necessary day, the day we bury Maxine.

What I said
Maxine died.

What happened
Maxine was dying.

What I said
I’m sorry I missed Leah’s birthday party.  Did you save me any cake?

There are so many deaths in a lifetime, so many endings . . . and but for this time in Maxine’s journey, I would not think of a wedding as a death, an ending . . . yet it is . . . an ending to one way of being even as another, more desired, way begins.  Harder to see, so it is with death . . . an ending that is yet another beginning . . . one not desired, for we were made to rejoice in this life, to cling to it, to hold fast beyond all sense or reason sometimes . . .

In a span of days, one woman stood witness to the joining of Rachel and Vince into a lifetime of shared joys and sorrows, challenges and victories . . . to treasured Leah celebrating her one-year anniversary on this earth . . . and to Maxine’s dying surrounded by all who would keep her if they but could . . . letting her go in one final act of loving kindness . . .

What happened was life.  What I said about it was life too, for so much living is captured in so few words . . . they were married . . . she died . . . happy birthday . . . 

7 or 8 of My Most Memorable Birthdays

In no particular order of importance:

1. Turning 50 in Chicago while in training with Christian Peacemaker Teams, Mom coming out for a visit, taking in the city and being with new friends, having earlier walked some Appalachian Trail both alone and with my son as my own gift to myself.  Earlier, team mates shower me with green cards, wrapping their love in color (in the color scheme that is CPT, I am green and that’s not necessarily a good thing).

2. Turning 47 in Glacier National Park, receiving scads of bouncing balls in the mail from seminary friends (if you’ve never received a bouncing ball in the mail, you are truly missing one of life’s great and fun gifts) and being serenaded by co-workers at the park with their own rendition of Take Me Home, Country Roads (yes, I know all the words and yes, Virginians, it is about West Virginia.)

3. Getting a pinball machine and a party for my 40th birthday, accompanied by lots of laughter and lots of friends.

4. Turning 6 – my first birthday party with kids and cake and a dress with a pinafore that my Grandmother made for me.

5. The many months of Beth, where friends indulged my need, my desire, to celebrate me – the laughing and silly gifts, the shared meals and jokes, the good times.

6. My 16th birthday, when I thought I was getting the keys to the kingdom (translate, access to the family car) and what I got instead was a life insurance policy on my life payable to my Dad (he laughed about that one his whole life long).

7. My 18th birthday, which I do not remember much.  The Alamo, the friends, the ritual rite of passage in America – lots and lots of beer and, to my very savvy mother’s amusement, my first crying jag.

Here I am, 58 today (well, in a few hours, to be technical about it).  I want to not like this birthday – it is far too close to 60 to suit me.  But I awake to sunshine and cool breezes, a happy birthday singing message on the phone from an old friend, apple butter left on the back porch by a new friend, bedecked with those silly clapping hands (I love those things), and the sure and certain knowledge that I am loved.  Later I will pack up my new yellow purse (gift from Mom – the envy of all the gals here, who’ve even checked out the very cool lining) – I get to carry evidence of my Mom’s love and care wherever I go.  It is a good day – and who knows?  Maybe this is the most memorable birthday of all.

It's Time to Tell Me Happy Birthday

Remember turning 6?

Remember waking up with a smile?

Remember summer days when you could roll back over and go back to sleep?

Remember drawing pictures just for fun?  And giving them to your mom or dad with the delighted proclamation: I made this for you!

Remember how glad you were to go visit your Gran?  And how very glad you were to get home?

It’s summer time and the boyo turned 6 and awoke with a smile and went back to sleep and got up calling my name to remind me it was time to say happy birthday to him.

And it is a good day.

And I remember and smile back over my shoulder at the generations all smiling behind me.

And yes, it is a very good day.