by Joanie Butman
Last week I celebrated my 64th birthday. Some of my peers are approaching their sixties with horror. I, on the other hand, embrace it, acknowledging the sheer miracle that I’ve survived this long – and not because of my ongoing dance with cancer. Some of the horrific choices I made in my teens and twenties were far more lethal than any disease unless, of course, you consider stupidity one. Truthfully, celebrating my 64th birthday is most surprising because I’m still waiting to grow up in many ways.
Let’s face it, we all know how to count, though some women conveniently lose this ability after a certain age. Acknowledging the event just reminds them of something they already know because their sagging, shifting bodies are daily reminders that you can run, but you can’t hide.
Betty White is my model of aging with grace and humor. She reminds me of a friend who describes ‘maturing’ with White-like spunk, “I’ve reached the speed limit and I’m not slowing down!” That she hasn’t is testimony to the claim that 80 is the new 60. I admire her attitude and stamina, but I am slowing down, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It has its perks. When you no longer have the pressures, responsibilities and time commitments of a young family, it enables you to choose to concentrate on things you find most fulfilling. There is now time to begin a new phase of life, to choose a new adventure – a second calling. Our second calling may not always be of our choosing or liking for that matter. It may be dictated by circumstances beyond our control, but the quality of our life will definitely be defined by how we choose to respond to that calling.
Personally, I find aging liberating. Among other things, age “frees us from the focus on appearances, so that we can become fully ourselves, inside and out.” Yes, I could join the ongoing battle society is waging to keep time and gravity at bay. But why? It’s futile anyway. At this point in my life, it’s less about what I see when I look in the mirror and more about what I see when I look into my soul.
With age and experience it becomes easier to accept ourselves for what we are, and what we have to give to the world, without feeling the need to please everyone all the time AND look good while doing it. Therein lies the definition of a crone. I was introduced to the concept of a crone years ago and embraced it enthusiastically. Croning isn’t necessarily attached to any particular age, though 50ish is the generally accepted range. Becoming a crone is more about attitude than numbers. It’s a choice to view your age as a privilege rather than a curse. Some might consider themselves ‘croned’ by 50, or others may not feel worthy of the title until much later in life. Either way, you will know you’re nearing it when it becomes less about you and more about others. It’s a time of wisdom, maturity and Depends.
I have another senior friend (somewhere in her 90s) that refuses to divulge her age or birthday. When I inquired as to why she wouldn’t share the date, she replied that she doesn’t consider the day she arrived in this world as her birthday. Her real birthday, she explained, is the day she accepted Christ as her Savior. From that day forward, every day has been a celebration. Amen, sista’!!
Finally, I may still be waiting to grow up in some ways, but I pray I never lose the childlike faith Jesus desires. A faith that never loses the wonder and awe of Christ’s sacrifice on my behalf. It’s not a faith of innocence but one of dependence. That kind of faith never grows old. It enables me to choose to trust Christ completely for His unconditional love, forgiveness and provision regardless of my age or circumstance.