Blame it on the week--end

Going into this past weekend my friends and family would tell you I had been well behaved and not played one Christmas song or watched even one Christmas show or movie. Enter our annual ladies retreat over the weekend and... The theme this year was Christmas and to say I was anticipating it would be a gross understatement.

I'm typing as I listen to/watch White Christmas, blame it on the weekend. Pray for the big dawg because now that it's started he will be inundated with it for at least three months. The fact that I quietly quote the entire thing and sing each song is purely a bonus, for me at least.

Christmastime for me is a time being very torn between anticipation and nostalgia. Perhaps that is true for everyone. But leading into retreat weekend I found myself living with pure anticipation. I was excited to be at one of my favorite places; to spend time with dear, dear friends (didn't do enough of this); hopeful to become better acquainted with newer friends (did some of this); and see how God would show up (did lots of this). Circumstances happened to a few key players ahead of this retreat that meant that many of us unexpectantly were asked to step up and fill gaps at the last minute. My heart began to ache for the ones that I knew would be missing and once I arrived the anticipation began to feel more like nostalgia. In many ways it felt like a mix between a family reunion and summer camp. 

Truth is, I wish it had been summer camp. The depth of friendship and transparency with these ladies is something that I do not take lightly and wish I had the opportunity to do more frequently. Between the sermons about the "gifts" of Christmas I found my spirit wondering. I began to evaluate the people in my life most frequently and the people who once were. No doubt this is dangerous territory being analytical about relationships, but it's my perspective. I thought about the substance of life that I am sharing and have shared with these ladies and found that true to form, I completely enjoy the company of many different ages and life situations and am better for it. But I move closer to best when I realize that I get to learn so much from the ones who are more experienced than I and when it's needed, share that wisdom with a side of my own experiences to those coming behind me. 

I also realized that I need to make a concerted effort to balance my time between them. I am still growing and learning and the only way to have a chance to speak life into the ones behind me is if I am willing to have it spoken to me. That may mean that at times I do not agree or am argumentative or even on occasion downright obstinate because I don't like the current experience, but I am trusting that I will continually remember this weekend and the things I learned inside and outside of the services and be open to the leading of the Spirit.

And so as my movie wraps up and my heart is full I'm now torn between pulling all of my organizer bins from their storage and making my house look like Christmas morning beginning tomorrow or being patient to experience the life in between now and then. You know what I'll do, but the truth needed to be shared.  Like I said, blame it on the weekend. 

Age is relative, right?

Even Webster is incapable of nailing down a specific example of ‘age’. Rather it covers all the possible bases within the English language; good on you Webster.

As somewhat frustrating as that is, it fits doesn’t it? How does one define age, truly? Sure we’ve all heard, and probably said things such as ‘age is just a number’, ‘act your age’, ‘you’re as young as you feel’, etc. All these things are true at varying times in our lives, but how exactly can you define age?

After some interesting encounters one day a few weeks ago this thought began rolling around 

my brain. That day I had interacted with people of nearly every decade of ‘age’, but the irony struck me in the evening. One of the conversations I had during the day was with a very precocious three year old that’s going on thirty. During our conversation she was asking about people’s ages and I asked her how old she thought was considered old. This is a deadly question I know, but I wanted to see what her thoughts were. She pulled a number that lives somewhere in the mid-twenties and said it was super old. I had to smile at that and tell her then that I was definitely ‘old’ to her; a point that she argued and I happily allowed it. The epiphanic moment happened that evening when I was conversing with someone in their mid-fifties. During the course of conversation after a comment I made they acknowledged its truth, but did so with emphasis on the wisdom of my youth. That got me really thinking.

In the course of less than twenty four hours, I’d been at both ends of the spectrum. I even said it to the mid-fifties person. To someone somewhere I’m supremely old and ancient, not quite irrelevant, but not quite applicable and yet to someone else I’m considered extremely young. It’s very much like seasonings isn’t it? You prepare a fresh seasoning for something and it’s so robust at the start but over time as it is stored and used the flavor begins to fade slightly. This is not true of the person I was talking with, but the irony was and still is not lost on me that no matter if you’re considered very young or very old the practicality of your usefulness wanes and people tend to take you for granted, or not give you the appropriate consideration of importance.

And so, as I find myself closer to the forties decade than not I still ask the question. How exactly can you define age?