Predicaments and Ponderings Blog

The Prince and I met my brother and momma at a local restaurant for lunch. Mom will be 99 years old in August. Ninety-nine! What a life and one well-lived, but Momma has grown…uh…how do I say this without sounding mean? She’s gotten contrary. That’s the nicest way I can say it.

If you ask her, she’s more than cooperative in working with my brother and I, (and she is in a lot of ways, but then…). We’re fortunate that on the really important life decisions, she is cooperative. It’s those little things that affect her daily, where she is less than helpful. Here’s an example:

My brother is walking her and her cruddy walker (that’s a story in and of itself) into the restaurant, and every step she takes, she sighs and says, “Oh.” Step. “Oh.” Step. “Oh.” So, I did the obvious thing by putting my arm around her and asking, “Mom, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

She shrugs and says, “Well, I sorta fell.”

My heart sank. A fall for Mom at ninety-nine could be life-threatening.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Well, I leaned over from my recliner to pick up the bottom of my quilt, and I toppled out of my chair. Oh, I caught myself on my hands. But I twisted my back. Gary said I probably pulled a muscle.” She groaned and sat at the lunch table.

“Why didn’t you call me? Mom, a fall is dangerous.”

“I didn’t fall! I sorta toppled.”

“Mom, it’s a fall. You don’t sorta topple over.”

She points at me with that bent finger. “I. Did. Not. Fall.”

I sighed and helped her get comfortable so she could eat. These are the ways Mom is less than cooperative. You want to do what’s best to help your 99-year-old momma, but then she doesn’t want your help. Figures. So, my brother and I are both learning to release. Can’t 

fix or help what’s rusted shut. Right?

We’re fortunate to still have her, and to have her healthy enough to continue producing a queen-sized quilt every other month. However, her lack of cooperation on these matters will ultimately be her downfall, and it breaks my heart.

I keep telling Chase and Cameron that when I get old and cranky, just remind me of Mom. Don’t compare me, just remind me about her, uh…er….lack of cooperation. Hopefully, I’ll straighten up and behave. 

We’re all like my momma in some ways. There’s that “I can do it myself” attitude that will probably cause us all to end up with a broken hip at some point, right? Of course, I’m right. You know I am.

Still, I’m gradually learning that “thangs ain’t as easy as they used to be” and I don’t like it. I don’t like it that the very stairs I used to jog up and down now require me to hold a rail and sort of pull myself up. I don’t like it when I step outside in the summer and turn into a sweat-soaked rag (and I mean soaked clean through to my undies).

I don’t like that I find myself going to bed at nine p.m., waking up at midnight, and walking the floors until four a.m. And I certainly don’t like that the things I used to do around the house have truly become chores. But such is aging.

Growing older doesn’t bother me mentally. I don’t mind being retired or even being called older, but it’s the little things that annoy me. I laugh in the face of age! My dear friend, Eva Marie Everson, sent me the perfect little sign after we’d chatted about how, as friends, we call each other and discuss our aches and pains. LOL. Her sign hit home. Stop petting my peeves!

I recently spent the day at a citywide festival where our local library invited authors to an event, allowing us to set up tables and meet the public, possibly selling a handful of books. It was fun. A dear friend from high school was kind enough to spend the day with me. We were able to catch up. Actually, we were able to just laugh. I’d forgotten how much she meant to me. I’ve said before, high school wasn’t my friend. The experience was more of a nightmare than a joy, but there were folks like Gail who made life sustainable when things were tough.

She admitted that she had never known about the hardships I’d experienced. Well, she didn’t know because I didn’t share them, and that was on me. Like I said earlier, it’s that I-think-I-can-do-it-myself attitude we all suffer from at one time or another. But one thing I remember about Gail was how we could laugh hysterically about the most mundane things. While we sat at the author event, our biggest chuckles came as we discussed how our hair turned gray and why, no matter how much we walk, our hips continue to spread. What the hay?

It's a new season of life for us both and one that I hope continues to include Gail.

I hope as I age, I am “cooperative” with my children and that I make my last years, which may require their assistance, as joyful as possible. I hope, like my mom, that longevity becomes my friend so that I can enjoy everything God has graced me with before He takes me home. 

Did I tell you my momma will be 99 years old next month? And I will be 67, and the Prince will be 71. My boys will be 44 and 45, and my grandchildren will be 12 and 7. Time doesn’t stop or even slow just because we want to take a longer gaze, OR in the case of my hips, a longer graze.

Of late, I’ve found my prayer life...well...let’s say scattered. Oh, I pray daily, but it’s like my mind wanders where it didn’t used to and it really began to worry me (You know I’m a worrier. This was one more thing I didn’t need on my plate.) In fact, I began to wonder if God was growing frustrated with me. Perhaps His reasoning for giving me a contrary Mother at 99 was to remind me of how He felt with a child who could be contrary. Maybe that’s why He gave us teenagers too—so we could experience a child who pretends we don’t exist! But I digress.

Anyway, I think my life lesson hit me in square between the eyes this morning. That when we worry about our prayers being scattered, we’re missing the bigger picture. We tend to stand before God and try to be perfect. As we say in the writing world, “polished.” But the truth is, polished isn’t what the Great Editor of our lives is looking for. He’s looking for the work to be done. He wants the messy me, no polish. No try-and-look real Christian, sloppy, sort of a train wreck that I am. God can work with that. So, why am I not coming to Him with the messy parts of me? After all, God already knows every detail about me. I can’t hide anything. My conclusion was this. When I start to pray about my writing and my mind wanders to my children, then I’m going to go with it. I’ll shift gears and pray about my children. And when my mind wanders again to my efforts at the church, well, I’ll shift again and pray about that because maybe...just maybe...those are the things God is leading me to pray about. It’s all about cooperation.

When I’m less than cooperative, God seems to be shifting me in a new direction. Pay attention, Cindy! I want the tightest relationship that I can have with my Father in heaven. After all, I’m no spring chicken anymore. The days behind me are far greater than the days ahead. What I’ve lacked in the past, I should reevaluate and strive to improve. Yep, the more I cooperate, the more I pray on these so-called rabbit trails, the stronger my prayer life becomes. And the stronger my prayer life grows, the more my relationship with Christ grows. Oh, yeah. It’s all about cooperation.

I will try to remember this when my Momma yanks my chain or on those nights when I’m pacing the floor, unable to sleep, feeling tired and guilty that I can’t keep my prayers on track. Cooperation. I think I can see the blue sky now. What about you? Anything you care to cooperate about? I’m guessing God is waiting right there for you to have a hit-you-square-between-the-eyes moment, too.

Oh, and for the record. God is in His best element when He pets our peeves.

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Photo 1 Courtesy of Pixabay and Solobrothers   Photos 2 & 3 CindySproles.com and                                                   Photo 4 Image by André Santana Design André Santana from Pixabay