Last weekend I went to my nephew/future niece-in-law's wedding shower. I was the only female in my generation who was single. I don't mind at all being without children; I do mind the social ostracization that goes with being both single and childless.
Choosing not to have children is one of the few major decisions in my life that I truly thought out, and except for a random minute now and then (totalling no more than 5), I have had no regrets. Unlike so many people with and without children, I chose my parental status with eyes open. I have great respect for those who did the same, whether or not they are parents. Most of those people are happy with their status as well.
Of course those who truly wanted children with reasonable expectations are respected. People like me are judged and scorned, called selfish and childhaters. Yes, it bothers me - but whatever. This is one area where I truly believe I've followed God's will for my life. Heck, I ruined my marriage by my bad behavior, and I continue to suffer the consequences, make poor choices, and have an attitude about men and marriage that just sucks. So at least I made one good decision that I don't have to worry about while trying to clean up after that bad ones.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
Aging, The Ordinary, and Gratefulness
As I approach my 50th birthday, I have been contemplating the negative and positive effects of aging more and more while I experience them. As we age, our preferences in reading material, music, food, movies, leisure activities in general, and so many other things begin to narrow. I used to eat just about anything and enjoy all types of music, but my tolerance for bad food and raucous music has diminished to a pinpoint.
Yet I have found that in some ways, just the opposite may occur, in that I am pleased even more by the simple and ordinary things of life that I used to take for granted.
Here I am at my family's summer place on a quiet lake in central New Hampshire. The sun has been absent the past few days, replaced by thick clouds and occasional showers. It's humid and dank. The towel I used to dry myself after yesterday's shower is still damp.
In my childhood, days like this, especially two or more in a row stuck in a smallish cabin with my family – no swimming, limited boating and uncomfortable hiking - would be cause for much stress and unhappiness. After all, those were the activities we traveled here for.
In contrast, I have savored these past few days. I have sat on the porch reading and writing, frequently looking up to view the changing scene before me. The morphing cloud formations, the march of rain across the lake, the clouds lifting to reveal the Belknap Mountains miles away. Taking a stretch break, I stand on the deck and breathe deeply, taking in the scent of the moist pine tress around me and the carpet of pine needles on the ground. Crouching on the dock, I watch minnows swim by in the clear water, and a mussel or two moving along the sandy bottom at a glacial pace. On the rocky beach, I observe for the umpteenth time in my life how much more beautiful the rocks are in the water than on dry land, the variety of colors more intense when wet.
I sit. I may think or pray, although just being is more than good enough. I am grateful. These ordinary God-given things that surround me fill me with deep joy and thanksgiving.
Yet I have found that in some ways, just the opposite may occur, in that I am pleased even more by the simple and ordinary things of life that I used to take for granted.
Here I am at my family's summer place on a quiet lake in central New Hampshire. The sun has been absent the past few days, replaced by thick clouds and occasional showers. It's humid and dank. The towel I used to dry myself after yesterday's shower is still damp.
In my childhood, days like this, especially two or more in a row stuck in a smallish cabin with my family – no swimming, limited boating and uncomfortable hiking - would be cause for much stress and unhappiness. After all, those were the activities we traveled here for.
In contrast, I have savored these past few days. I have sat on the porch reading and writing, frequently looking up to view the changing scene before me. The morphing cloud formations, the march of rain across the lake, the clouds lifting to reveal the Belknap Mountains miles away. Taking a stretch break, I stand on the deck and breathe deeply, taking in the scent of the moist pine tress around me and the carpet of pine needles on the ground. Crouching on the dock, I watch minnows swim by in the clear water, and a mussel or two moving along the sandy bottom at a glacial pace. On the rocky beach, I observe for the umpteenth time in my life how much more beautiful the rocks are in the water than on dry land, the variety of colors more intense when wet.
I sit. I may think or pray, although just being is more than good enough. I am grateful. These ordinary God-given things that surround me fill me with deep joy and thanksgiving.
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