"Getting Old - Do Not Disturb"

I feel like I have two girls living inside.

One is about 7 years old and has big ideas. Her dreams are bigger than her shoes but she doesn't care.

She's pretty clear about what she wants and there is nothing that can stop her because her imagination is the force within that drives her.  She would never tell you that because she's too young to know better. Dreaming is as natural as breathing. She doesn't give it a second thought. Decisions are easy. She does what pops into her head without thought of the future. It's all about the NOW.

The second girl is about 70 years old.

She's been through more things than you should ever take time to hear about. She has stepped out and taken some risks. Though most things have turned out ok, she's still sure that as she gets older, risks are too....well, um.....risky. Experience and fears (usually unfounded) make her less apt to dream. She could easily close up shop and hang a sign on the door:

"Getting Old - Do Not Disturb"

Yesterday I told my husband that the little girl in me seems to know exactly what to do, but the old woman in me rebukes me and starts talking me out of everything.

The older I get, the more I am trying to listen to the little girl inside. I think you reach a certain age where you start realizing that what you might lose is worth risking. (Please remind me of this the next time you see me freaking out).

I recently found myself wishing for a way to bring the two generations together - not just my two girls on the inside, but in society.

I was in Canada on a mini tour and one of the events I did was very small, but very rich. I'd go back again in a heartbeat. A group of mostly elderly gathered to sing hymns for a couple of hours. They were invited to pick their favorite songs and boy did we sing! When we weren't crying, that is. We ate a tasty lunch and then I did a concert for them. They laughed at "Silver Hair", my new parody of "Silver Bells".  It's not too early for Christmas these days.  It's all I think about as my big concert draws near.

I watched as they started blowing noses and wiping tears. I choked up. Some of them don't get to sing the old hymns any more. But they've lived life long enough that when they sing, they know from experience how true the words are. I found myself wishing the young people could experience this moment. I found myself wondering what I could do to join the vitality of youth, faith and zeal with the deep endurance of those who have lived long enough to be touched by the simplicity of faith.

The song leader and I are not yet fifty. We still have some youth left in us but we have been dancing with the symptoms of aging and we're getting a bit clumsy in our 'jig' as we navigate our forties. We can learn from those who have been there.

And likewise, I wish there was a way that the little girl in me could keep the old woman from caving in to ease and comfort. There must be a way for the old woman in me to nurture and guide the little girl who loves to dream.

Just like there must be a way for the younger generation to help the older ones remember how to dream. There must be a way for the older generation to speak wisdom and experience to the youth and catch them when they fall.

I think I'll keep my shop open for a while yet and I think I will change the sign:

"Getting Old - MOVE Out Of My Way"

The power of washing feet.

Mother and I in our old farm kitchen...1970's??

Mother and I July of 2014

In many ways my mother and I are about as different as night and day. I'm thankful for these later years together because it has given me a chance to discover many similarities I didn't know we had.

The pictures make a good visual of how our lives have changed over the years.  Here are just a few of our differences:

She had five children.  I have none.
She loved being a mother.  I'll never know what that feels like biologically.
She loved to cook.  I don't like to cook, but I do because she showed me by example.
I have chosen a career in music.  She doesn't relate to that kind of life at all.
I ride a motorcycle.  She doesn't like that so much but tries to smile about it.
She still wears a prayer covering.  I don't...but I still pray.

And the list goes on.  But you get the idea.

To be completely honest, through the years this has created some tension.  And that's putting it mildly. Learning how to be a good daughter when there are so many differences created its challenges.

There's an old tradition we used to practice in the church background I come from.  It's called 'foot-washing'.  I remember when we would sit very reverently in the church pews, men in one room and women in another.  It was a very sacred event and one that I treasure.

With white towel-like aprons, tubs of bleach and hot water...well, semi-hot water, you would kneel in front of the person next to you, take one foot in your hand and gently scoop the water up over it. Then the other foot.  Next you would hold one foot in your hand on your lap and dry it with your towel. When you were finished both parties would stand and embrace as a sign of unity.

It wasn't so much about getting feet clean as it was letting them know that you cared about them. You humbled yourself in front of them to honor them.  It was hard to do this with someone you were angry with but that was kind of the point.  The room was filled with the smell of bleach and the sound of beautiful harmonies as we sang familiar songs together without any instruments.

I have often compared these last few years with my mother to those early years of childhood when I learned to wash the feet of other sisters.  It's not that I sit and wash my mother's feet, though I have certainly helped her shower, etc.  I trim her nails, tuck her in bed, comb her hair, hold her hand.

But it's more about the position she has been forced into by losing her sense of independence and my willingness to set aside our differences and serve her. It's not easy for these precious elders to let go of all that they know and become so dependent on others.  I cry often for them.  For her.

But what seems to happen in the process, at least in my case, is a gentle breaking down of walls between us.  Just these physical acts alone seem to bring about a deeper love and respect toward each other.

So many times on facebook when I post something I've done with my mother, people comment as to what a wonderful daughter I am.  I sigh and shake my head. I don't feel like one.  I just want you to know that it has not been perfect for us.  I hope this helps other daughters who have struggled in the past with their mothers.  Hang in there.  You might not need to 'wash her feet' per se, but welcome any kind of act you can do toward her to embrace humility and extend honor.  You'll be surprised what can happen in your own heart.

We don't practice foot-washing anymore in most communities of faith and I feel sad that we don't. But I get to practice humility and gentle acts of love every week for my mother and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The Unsigned List

When someone lives in skilled nursing care, you must sign them out when you take them outside or off the premises.  I was heart broken when I signed my mother out for the 3rd time in three weeks and no one else had been signed out on the chart. 

Recently, I took her out for a stroll.  We sat by the pond and enjoyed the water fountain, the turtles who popped their heads up once in a while and the frog who plopped himself near us, just to entertain, it seemed.

I have this growing compassion in my heart for the elderly and some days my tears are not just for my mother. It’s for many who sit there day after day just watching time move on.  Because my mother is in that stage of life right now I see a lot of things when I visit her.  But to see an empty, unsigned list of residents who don't get to go out and enjoy the sunshine with their family grieves me in the depths of my soul.  Just going for a root beer float or a pecan roll and hot chocolate at Panera Bread does a person a lot of good.  I realize there are probably many factors that contribute to the unsigned list, but I hope it's not because people aren't visiting their loved ones.

Years ago when I had to move my mother from her cottage to an inside apartment, a grounds keeper came by and shared his observations with me.  He has witnessed a lot since he's worked there many years. "Families only tend to come around when the older person is moving, as if to take what they want and leave", he said.  I've never forgotten that conversation.

If you have a loved one in a facility somewhere, please do all you can to visit them and give them some sort of experience that keeps them in touch with the outside world.  A phone call, a card or a letter can do so much good if you don’t live close. In fact, in these days of technology, a hand written letter is really special.

Even now as I'm writing this, I realize that I need to do better with my father-in-law. He lives in Michigan and we rarely go see him, but I can at least write him letters.  In fact, I just sent him a card last week because of writing this blog.  I get so wrapped up in caring for my mother that I forget he needs to hear from us too.  Fortunately, my husband calls him weekly.

We all have very busy lives, but don't forget your loved one who sits day after day waiting for someone to be a friend and keep them connected to the outside world.  Don't let the list go unsigned too long.  bv