Change

Crossing Mountains
It’s interesting the things I’ve learned about myself these past couple years. For instance, as much as I complained about Tim’s do-it-yourself obsession, I now find myself searching the Internet for instructions on how to fix things myself. I’ve discovered there’s a YouTube video to show you how to do just about everything. And I’m proud to say, if I carefully follow the directions, I can do just about anything.
My greatest achievement so far has been learning to ride a motorcycle. Of all the things Tim and I did together, riding was something we both passionately loved. So after taking a short riding course, I had my license.

At first I only took few short trips close to home. Then I got enough nerve to venture out with our friends on the flat, mostly straight roads in and around Orlando. But apprehension overcame me at the thought of joining those friends on their annual trip to the North Carolina Mountains.

Determined to live well regardless of my circumstances, I chose to not let fear hold me back.
But staring out the window as we towed the bikes up those last few miles of mountain roads to our destination, I began to second-guess my decision. Every twist and turn of the road became an obstacle course I couldn’t see myself surviving.
After a restless nights sleep, with my heart pounding, I sat down on the bike. The wet road and falling leaves added on another obstacle.
But when I pressed the start key and the rumble of my engine joined the chorus of the others, I felt a thrill. A new level of determination burned inside me. There was no way I was going to let fear stop me from doing what I love.
I whispered a quick prayer, “God keep me focused, smart, and alert.” Then I eased out the clutch and pulled into the middle of the line of riders.

 

Now, I wouldn’t call myself a great motorcycle rider. And I’ll never know how slow the guys took those turns for me. But I do know this; I crossed two types of mountains that day. And the one I crossed inside will carry me over many more ahead.
So much has to be rebuilt when we lose a loved one. And sometimes we have to overcome a physical fear to convince ourselves we can overcome the emotional ones. I’ve crossed both of mine on a motorcycle. And in an odd sort of way, I felt Tim was along for the ride.

And for that I thank the God who made me and those North Carolina Mountains.

How to get Mojo
I’d seen her do it many times. After getting dressed, she spins around, looks me in the eye, and with a girlish smile asks, “How do I look.” The answer is always the same, “You’re beautiful.” At 85, my Aunt Jeanne Marie is still the most beautiful woman I know.

At a time when the Internet daily shoves images of the ideal beauty at me, none compare to this woman who has so richly impacted my life.

I’m fascinated with a news segment called, “Stars Who Lost their Mojo.” A series of before and after photos of celebrities who’ve had the misfortune of getting older. But I’d like to challenge this standard. I’d like to say, Aunt Jeanne Marie never lost an ounce of her mojo, in fact she gained it as she got older.
Aunt Jeanne Marie, Nora, Sheila, and me

Once, as a little girl, I sat in the bathroom and watched Aunt Jeanne Marie go through her nightly ritual of washing her face. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “Honey, whatever you do for your skin it will appreciate.” But today, Aunt Jeanne Marie isn’t beautiful because of the moisturizer she used.  She’s beautiful because of the woman she became.

Her’s was a life like most of ours, filled with grief and sorrow, joy and triumphs. But she chose to focus on the good. Like when she could have no children of her own, so she stepped in and helped my mother raise her six.

Today, she and my Uncle Eugene live in a little house in San Francisco. They don’t have much because they enjoyed giving most of their possessions away.

Aunt Jeanne Marie, my granddaughter Juliette, Uncle Eugene, my sister Sheila


It’s easy when we’re young to rely on our exterior appearance.  But by the time we’re in our fifties, our face tends to reflect the people we really are. Our wrinkles are the imbedded joys, sorrows, and tensions we’ve chosen to spend our lives focusing on.

I think Mojo should be all the good stuff that comes out when we choose to age well. I’d like to change our culture to value women like my Aunt Jeanne Marie. A woman who chose a life soaked in forgiveness. Whose mojo goes to the very depth of her soul.
I dream of a day, when my grandchildren will see a segment called, “People Who Gained their Mojo.” Picture after picture of sweet gentle old folks with laugh lines embedded in their faces and crows feet reflecting a spark in their eye. Because that’s a beauty fought for. A beauty that doesn’t come natural.

The Simplest Things
My friend posted a picture of her husband on facebook. An insignificant picture. He’s standing, looking off in the distance, in what looks like a driveway. She wrote underneath “Oh to be in that moment again.” He died a few months ago. I share in her grief. I understand what she means. You long for the return of the simplest things.
It’s a message passed down through the ages. “Life is short, cherish it.” Few of us fully grasp it’s meaning until many of our moments are gone.
Time is a thief. It steals from us when we’re not looking. It takes work to not let it happen. We must be intentional in how we live our lives.

I cherish this memory. On many a vacation, Tim was up first. On this one he gathered the grandkids. Rigged up their fishing poles. And shared his passion and wisdom for gathering food. I got to glimpse it. I ran back in the tent for my camera. The fullness of the memory, the moist air, the cool breeze, the quiet chatter, all are embedded deep in my heart.

I long for eternity. The promised restoration of the life God intended us to live. The life that Jesus bought for us on the cross. The chance to reunite with those we love.
Oh for the opportunity to never again miss a moment. For time will no longer be able to rob us of anything.