Wrinkles In Heaven
Lately, I’m coming to the realization that I am getting older. For one thing, I’m not “hip” anymore. Today I was presented with one of those annoying internet pop-up thingies that show you a picture of some famous person and give you three choices as to who the person is and if you are really, really gullible you click on the right name and get an offer for lower auto insurance or something similar. Usually they are so easy that even if you have been living as a hermit in a cave for years, you still know who the celebrity is, like Michael Jackson. This time, I couldn’t tell who they were. I had no clue. Is there really somebody named “50 Cent”?
Another reason I know I’m getting older is that I have wrinkles. I just turned 36 and up until about a year ago, I couldn’t buy a bottle of wine anywhere without being asked for my I.D. In a hurry once about 2 years ago I huffed at the clerk behind the counter and said “You’ve got to be kidding!” He said to me, curtly, “No, Miss. You look to me to be about 17 years old and you had better go get your dad.” This was actually a pretty cool thing. Now, at the rare occasion I do buy wine, I think they see my wrinkles and they just stuff the wine in a bag and take my money. No protest. No sideways-glance. I’m deflated when I leave. When I go home, the wine tastes better for some reason.
Does older mean wiser? I don’t think so. I still do dumb things like put a 20 dollar bill in the back pocket of a pair of jeans I already KNOW has a hole in them and promptly lose the bill. I always get lost while driving and always lose my car in the parking lot of our Super Walmart, no matter how I tell myself to remember where I am when I’m parking.
I still date the wrong guy. I really think there is a planet somewhere in our solar system where all the tall, good looking, employed, Knights-Of-Columbus-Member, studying-to-be-a-deacon, wouldn’t-give-up-his-catholicism-if-his-life-depended-on-it type guys are and I think once every year they import one and he is always married off immediately to someone else. I see him in church with his wife and their kids. He always wears khaki pants and is holding a 6 month old baby. And he is smiling.
I still drink too much coffee. I still listen to the same old Joni Mitchell songs. I still cry over the obituaries in the paper, especially if the person was a kid or a really, really old person. I still think that you can’t have too many babies. I still am stunned at the sunrise, especially the one I saw the other morning over the river with the trees at peak autumn majesty along its shoreline, and heavy silver mist rising through the pinks and purples it reflected.
I still like myself, which is a victory. But then again, I realize what I am liking about myself is Christ in me. Left to myself I am a wretched fool who makes much graver mistakes than losing her car in a parking lot. I still am hounded by past sorrows and losses, but I know that all things I have lost, down to that 20 dollar bill through a hole in my pocket, will be restored to me one day. Are there wrinkles in heaven? I sure hope not.
Another reason I know I’m getting older is that I have wrinkles. I just turned 36 and up until about a year ago, I couldn’t buy a bottle of wine anywhere without being asked for my I.D. In a hurry once about 2 years ago I huffed at the clerk behind the counter and said “You’ve got to be kidding!” He said to me, curtly, “No, Miss. You look to me to be about 17 years old and you had better go get your dad.” This was actually a pretty cool thing. Now, at the rare occasion I do buy wine, I think they see my wrinkles and they just stuff the wine in a bag and take my money. No protest. No sideways-glance. I’m deflated when I leave. When I go home, the wine tastes better for some reason.
Does older mean wiser? I don’t think so. I still do dumb things like put a 20 dollar bill in the back pocket of a pair of jeans I already KNOW has a hole in them and promptly lose the bill. I always get lost while driving and always lose my car in the parking lot of our Super Walmart, no matter how I tell myself to remember where I am when I’m parking.
I still date the wrong guy. I really think there is a planet somewhere in our solar system where all the tall, good looking, employed, Knights-Of-Columbus-Member, studying-to-be-a-deacon, wouldn’t-give-up-his-catholicism-if-his-life-depended-on-it type guys are and I think once every year they import one and he is always married off immediately to someone else. I see him in church with his wife and their kids. He always wears khaki pants and is holding a 6 month old baby. And he is smiling.
I still drink too much coffee. I still listen to the same old Joni Mitchell songs. I still cry over the obituaries in the paper, especially if the person was a kid or a really, really old person. I still think that you can’t have too many babies. I still am stunned at the sunrise, especially the one I saw the other morning over the river with the trees at peak autumn majesty along its shoreline, and heavy silver mist rising through the pinks and purples it reflected.
I still like myself, which is a victory. But then again, I realize what I am liking about myself is Christ in me. Left to myself I am a wretched fool who makes much graver mistakes than losing her car in a parking lot. I still am hounded by past sorrows and losses, but I know that all things I have lost, down to that 20 dollar bill through a hole in my pocket, will be restored to me one day. Are there wrinkles in heaven? I sure hope not.
posted by Mikala at 10:11 PM
Pray The Liturgy Of The Hours
5 Comments:
Think of this...a wrinkle is God's way of saying he loves you enough to let you keep on going, and a reminder that he is there with you. A wrinkle is proof that yes, even fools like me can keep chugging along with God's help. :)
I still like myself, which is a victory. But then again, I realize what I am liking about myself is Christ in me. Left to myself I am a wretched fool who makes much graver mistakes than losing her car in a parking lot. I still am hounded by past sorrows and losses, but I know that all things I have lost, down to that 20 dollar bill through a hole in my pocket, will be restored to me one day.
What a refreshing reflection. Truly, your blog is uplifting and inspiring.
There is no person named "50 cent". There IS a person named "fitty cent".
Thank you, Sister :)
Ouch, my knuckles hurt.
Hi Mikala,
I know what you mean about not knowing certain persons anymore. I used to know the bio-data of every member of cool new wave bands in the '80s when I was in my teens, as well as the title of each of their songs and some tidbits about when they wrote it and what inspired them. Now, I'm lucky if I can remember the names of artists I hear on the radio. But I've heard of 50 cent -- I think he does hip-hop or rap, but I'm not too sure =)
What a wonderful and thought-provoking post you have here. I'll be sure to keep coming back to your blog.
Have a fine day!
Sunnyday
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