Mother-Daughter Banquet

Last night I went with my mom to the Mother-Daughter Banquet at her church. We enjoyed having a chance to spend an evening together that didn't involve sitting on bleachers! My dad was in the kitchen, working along side many other men from the church. They were all dressed up and working hard to cook and serve the meal for the ladies. The fellowship hall was packed with people...I could tell that many tables held four generations, some women who had even come from out of town to attend. 

After dinner, everyone traveled upstairs to the sanctuary for the program. A group of older women had put together a collection of songs, stories and quotes about the seasons of life. As they sang, my eyes wandered around and I scanned the people around me in the pews. I found many other females I could relate to. 

The little girls sitting a few rows ahead of me were cousins. They wiggled, giggled and whispered through the program. I could relate to them. Sitting still in church used to bring out my wiggles and whispers too. 

To my left, I saw a harried new mom who didn't sit much that evening. She was doing mommy gymnastics as she bounced the little one on her lap, frequently reaching and stretching to retrieve things from the diaper bag. Later she stood, rocked and swayed in the back of the sanctuary to keep her baby quiet. Yep, I could relate to her, too. I remember those hectic years when traveling anywhere with my little ones seemed like an Olympic event. I felt like a human jungle-gym, and probably didn't enjoy each moment with my little ones as much as I should have.

Many women at this event, including the ones giving the program, were grey haired grandmas and great-grandmas. Some were aging gracefully, happy to be staying active and involved.   I sat next to a 97 year old former principal, who over the years has shrunk to about 4 feet in height. A person wouldn't have guessed her age from the sparkle in her eye, well dressed appearance and high heeled shoes. Other women wore sour, tired looks on their faces, undoubtedly caught up in the effects of their aging

That is a season of life I can't relate to. (Although the other night, I had a glass of wine at bedtime and had to "chase it" down with two Tums.) I can't help imagining myself thirty years from now and wondering how I will manage. Will the aches and pains of aging steal the sparkle from my eye? Will my face be frozen in a permanently disapproving expression? My mom has often remarked, "Getting older is a privilege, especially when you consider the alternative." How true that is. We all get older, but acting old is optional.