40 is the New 30; or, I Must Need an iPhone

Today I got an iPhone.

I used to wonder how our parents managed to keep tabs on us kids, know when to pick us up, tell us it was time to come home, etc., without cell phones.

I got my first cell phone 13 years ago when my older son was 4 months old. It was a big, gray flip-phone with an antenna I had to pull out. And it was just a phone. No screens, no cameras, no calendars or calculators. Just a telephone to use if our old car broke down somewhere while I was out alone with the baby.

By the time my son went to Mother's-Day-Out, I was required to leave a phone number where I could be reached at any time in case of emergency. I had to either provide them with a cell phone number or stay home  for the duration of my day out. Since that was not an option, I replaced my gargantuan gray with a sleeker model that was about the size of a PayDay bar.

Over the past several months I have noticed my question about how our parents did it without cell phones morphing into a question of how they did it without fully synced calendars, e-mail accounts, and global positioning systems.

I have never been one to keep a calendar and we are not an overly busy family. Mark only travels a total of about 2.5 months out of the year. I don't travel. The boys are limited to one extra-curricular activity at a time in addition to their karate class.

And yet as they get older I find it harder and harder to be the CHO (Chief Household Operator) without 3G making it possible for me to see everyone's Google Calendar from anywhere in the world. Between orthodontist appointments, eye glasses, tonsillectomies, choir concerts, field trips, youth group stuff, and sleep overs, I can no longer keep it all straight like I once did. And I haven't even mentioned the things that Mark and I do!

Of course I considered the possibility that my aging brain is the problem, not my lack of an iPhone. But since 40 is the new 30 I promptly disregarded that thought.

And I got an iPhone.

I Am No Monk!

Someone once asked me why I went back to graduate school after earning my Master's in Counseling. My off the cuff answer was that in our house you either keep up or shut up, and I'm not real good at shutting up. Although I was joking (mostly), it is true that mine is a household whose members love to learn and discuss.

In addition, I often find myself reading things that others in my family are reading so that I can engage meaningfully with them in conversation. I have read a lot of theoretical physics in a desperate attempt to keep up with my 13 year-old. Unlike with our running, I eventually had to cry, "Uncle!"

My husband Mark has been working on his doctoral dissertation in spiritual formation for a while now. So, of course, I'm reading a lot in that area (at least this is a topic I can wrap my mind around). But the more I read, the more dissatisfied I find myself.

You see, I am not a mystic. I have no monkish leanings.

I am all for the silent, isolated, cloistered experiences that we all need at times in order to revel in the presence of God. What I am dissatisfied with is that, according to everything I am reading, a monastic lifestyle is THE way to spiritual formation. I simply cannot imagine spending significant time cut off from the world around me as I try to become so disconnected from my senses that I forget everything but the existence of God.

I know, love, and respect a significant number of people who are more mystically gifted, so to speak. I admire their ability to sit in silence for a long time and simply be.

Consequently, for a long time I thought the problem was me. I was too socially focused and needed to break myself of this. My desire for external stimulation in the learning process was a weakness I should overcome. Etc.

There are times when it is necessary for me to move towards God in ways not a part of my natural mode of relating to the world around me. But I am beginning to believe that maybe there is more than one path to the kind of closeness to God that I see contemplation bringing for many of my friends. Unfortunately, if there is more than one path I cannot find anyone writing about it.

As I said, when we think something in this house, we discuss it. And so Mark and I have. He, too, senses a void in the literature. No one we have read yet makes much space for the extraverted and spontaneous on the path to spiritual formation.

In an attempt to better understand what I was sensing, I began looking at the relationship between Jesus and His disciples through this lens. Jesus did get frustrated with Peter, James, and John when they could not sit quietly while He prayed without falling asleep. But previously He had taken the same three to witness His transfiguration, a multi-sensory experience to be sure that required them to actually enhance their sensual awareness of the world around them. Is this a clue? Is it possible that Jesus knew you could draw close to God in myriad ways, some of which will be easier for some personalities than others?

Perhaps my dissatisfaction with the literature of spiritual formation is not such much a result of my own failings (of which there are plenty), and more about the need to find a way to appreciate the parts of me that make more than 10 minutes of meditation difficult. Maybe multiple paths to oneness and union with God exist which allow each of us to access the spiritual disciplines in ways that honor our unique personalities.

So I lay myself open to God hoping He will show me how to revel more and more in Him without having to deny the way He created me to be.

And though I may have had to give up on theoretical physics, I will continue to study and learn in an effort to keep up with my family...because I'm pretty sure there won't be much shutting up!

What I Didn't Know Then

When I was a little girl I didn't know that soup was not the product of a can or that bread could be categorized as white, wheat, or whole grain. It was just bread, with all its enriched white goodness, to be dipped into a bowl of Campbell's.

As I draw closer to 40 the sheer volume of what I did not know before and do not now know leaves me speechless (a state in which I rarely find myself). 

But there were times in my life when I was certain there was not much more, if anything, to be learned. The decade of my twenties was the worst. I knew everything and was perfectly happy to grace all around me with the depth of my knowledge and insight. 

In honor of that decade I thought I would write my Top 10 list of things I did not know when I was in my twenties:

1.  The more you tell people how much you know, the more they know you really don't know much at all.

2.  Hospitality is more about making space for others in your life than impressing them while they are in that space.

3.  It's not that hard to become too busy.

4.  Sitting and holding my babies so that they would take a good nap was my job, so there was no need to fret over the dirty dishes.

5.  Not everyone liked Jesus, so how could I expect everyone to like me?

6.  The most powerful moments are generally the quietest with only a few others in attendance.

7.  God loves me because I am His child, not because of what He can do for others through me (that's just His icing on the proverbial cake).

8.  I have the privilege of keeping my opinions to myself when sharing them would not add value.

9.  The more I exercise #8, the more value my opinion adds when I do share it.

10.Love is like a lucky penny. Hold it tight and you won't have any. Give it away and you'll have plenty.

By no means is this an exhaustive list, but from this tiny glimpse I believe you begin to see why, after a decade like my 20s, I am so looking forward to turning 40!

30, 35, 40...

I've always been one whose closest friends were, for the most part, 4-5 years older. When I was 25 I listened longingly as they talked of the joys of 30. A sense of being settled, others valuing what you have to say, fewer major decisions and more reveling in the decisions made.

By the time I turned 30 they were all saying the same things about 35. And, of course, by the time I turned 35 they were all gushing about how great 40 is for all the same reasons 30 and 35 were supposed to be great.

I have wise, smart, sassy, god-fearing, not-content-to-let-me-be-mediocre, fun sorts of friends. But for 15 years now they have been wrong! So this year I am refusing to listen if they start to rave about 45. I am looking so forward to 40 that nothing can take that away from me.

Interestingly, though, I already enjoy some of the things they raved about for so many years. Life is settled in a wonderful way. I am not career-building, but am enjoying being good at what I do and the blessing of doing it in a place that honors my desire to put God and family first. I am deeply honored to be an instrument of God where and when HE chooses.

And (hold on to your seats because this one's a real weird one), it appears I do have some influence. It's been exciting reading comments and seeing followers add themselves to my blog. People seem to want to hear what I have to say. There have been other indications of that over the years (or at least in the years since 35), but now I have it in black and white!

And while it's fun and exciting, it also makes me uncomfortable...and well it should!

I want to live up to the trust others place in me. I thirst even more to be a woman after God's own heart, so that I might share the wisdom I have received from so many around me. After all, I have nothing I did not get from someone else (I even got that statement from Paul!).

So to all of you who have influenced me that I may influence others for God, thank you.

(BTW: Today's run was great for me and my son!)

Finish the Run

My 13 year-old son and I have been running together off and on since he was 7. We still have very fond memories of our first 5k we ran in pouring rain. Many a run I urged him on, slowing my pace and chatting about whatever would distract him.

When we started running together again about 2 months ago, I anticipated more of the same. Aaron hadn't run on a regular basis for a year or more, and although I had taken some time off after cracking my tail bone, I felt pretty good about hitting the road again. And that's when I learned that an out-of-shape 13 year-old is faster than a somewhat-in-shape almost 39 year-old.

So I made a plan...I ran a couple of weeks in a row without him in hopes of closing the gap at least a little.

Today I tested that plan. Aaron and I set out to run our typical 45 minutes and the first 10 felt pretty good. Then I felt fatigue set in, but there was no way I was admitting it. We were on a particularly hilly course, I told myself, and it was early in the day and my best running is in the afternoon. So I pushed thinking I would eventually get my wind back.

And then it happened, joy of joys...my son said, "This is a miserable run." My now 39 year-old self may have been sucking air, but so was my 13 year-old son. Now we were pushing together. Finish the run, slow down if you have to, but don't quit. The next run will only be that much harder if we quit in the middle of this one. And so we did, and an hour later we hobbled back into the house.

Finish the run, slow down if you have to, but don't quit.

Oops, late again!

Whenever I meet a new friend for lunch or coffee I always tell her not to fret if I am running late, because I will be late. But only by about 5 or 10 minutes. I'm the late friend. I always show up...about 5 minutes late. I hate that about myself. I've tried desperately to change; but there is always that one last thing I could squeeze in. A small basket of laundry. A quick stop at the bank. A short report at the office. Somehow, though, that one last thing always takes about 5-10 minutes longer than I predicted. So just stop doing that last thing, right? Well, I tried that recently on the way to see Beth and Fran. I was so proud for being on time, only to realize I was still 5 minutes late but the basket of laundry was still on my couch.

It seems I have started this blog in similar fashion. After seeing the movie Julie & Julia I was inspired (by the daily writing, NOT by the cooking). After looking so forward for so many years to turning 40, I decided to begin a blog on my 39th birthday chronicling the remaining 365 days until the long awaited Big One. Well, yesterday was my 39th birthday, which makes me about 5 minutes late if you consider this a year long event.

Nonetheless, it is begun. My life in this 40th year is not what I would have predicted 20 years ago. Rather, it is far more than I could ever have even thought to imagine. Imperfect, of course. But marvelous to be sure!