On Turning Forty-Five

I have a personal tradition on my birthdays.  At some point in the day I pull out my journal and write an entry titled “On Turning Forty-Five” (adjust title for particular age).  I usually write with a fountain pen — it forces me to slow down and make my words be intentional.  In this journal entry I reflect on the past year and pen some of my thoughts and dreams about the coming year.  It is fun to go back and read some of these missives.

Today I turn forty-five.  I guess I have actually already “turned” since I am now 45.  NOT turned, however, in the way a wine or old piece of fruit or milk left too long in the refrigerator “turns.”  I assume I haven’t because Kerri is very sensitive to expiration dates.

 

I got glasses for this birthday.  Except for the brief time in my later youth that I wore a single contact lens following an eye injury (I got hit by a waterballoon on the day of high school graduation practice), I have been free of vision correction.  Interesting phrase, “vision correction.”  To correct something is to fix it.  Or write in red ink all over it.  Neither of those has happened with my new spectacles.  When I wear them things are in focus.  Take them off and I’m back to the old blurry world.  My vision hasn’t been corrected, with the aid of glasses it has been “assisted.”  However, since I have turned forty-five, I don’t much care for the word “assisted.”  Only one word shy of “assisted living” — something I hope to avoid for another 45 years.  (Don’t laugh at me — it’s my birthday and I am allowed to dream!)

These glasses, with their stylish “Polo by Ralph Lauren” frames, were a shock to my near-middle age (remember, it’s my birthday).  I went from no “vision correction” to TRIFOCALS.  My grandmother only ever had to have bifocals.  They call them “progressive” lenses.  Maybe by wearing them I will be able to end homelessness, avert world hunger, and figure out universal health care.  (That is what “progressive” means, right?  I’m just glad I wasn’t prescribed something from the other end of the political spectrum — I’d rather be blind.  Or maybe that IS what it means to not be progressive…  I’ll stop now.)

All kidding aside, I am grateful for the gift of another year.  Forty-four was a great year.  We moved and started a new co-pastorate.  We have fallen in love with a new congregation and staff.  We transformed a house that we purchased into a comfortable home.  We have made a whole village of new friends.  I have been 100% back to health (years 40-43 included a long journey with meningitis).  I am more in love with my wife and daughter than ever before.  There were many times in the past year when I was able to be with friends from around the country, often in our Presbyterian circles of connection.  I cooked some fabulous meals (two stand out — the wild mushroom stuffed filet mignon and the braised veal shanks), drank some great wine, and shared wonderful conversations around the table.  I had one of the best doctoral seminars ever — thanks to Barbara Brown Taylor and a magical group of colleagues in the course.  We made some memorable trips (Niagara on the Lake in Ontario is wonderful!) and provided some good leadership at events (keynoting Montreat Youth Conferences again was a highlight).  We learned how to live in snow.

Forty-five was a great year.  My prayer is that as I start my forty-sixth year it will be equally full of great experiences.  But even more, I hope that the coming year is a time of cherishing.  I want to be aware of and cherish the moments in each day.  I have the time to slow down a bit.  I hope that (in addition to the new glasses) I have the wisdom to see what God is doing in, around, and through me… and to cherish the gift of the days ahead of me.

Here’s to a great year, and the year to come!

~ by Jeff on August 22, 2007.