How does it feel?

There is a dear, sweet lady who goes to our church that I want to tackle like the Rock goes after Jericho in WWF. She is about 4 foot 10 inches tall and weighs about as much as my largest dog. She is ancient in years and wise as an owl, but she's a little confused.

At 38 years old, I'm beginning to feel my age a bit. My check up this year at the doctor include the news that my blood pressure was elevated, I had a blood clot in my leg and I have something called 'metabolic syndrome'. I think the doctor was just trying to tell me I was fat, but apparently it has to do with pre-diabetes....Anyway I have always felt young and invincible. I consider myself 'the sturdy girl' and can lift heavy things and am physically capable of quite a bit.

My behavior also reflects my youthful attitude. I am silly and like to dance. I make weird faces and tend to be socially inappropriate. I still like humor about poop and gross stuff. I would like to chalk it up to the fact that I surround myself with little people night and day, but in my heart, I know its just immaturity.

So imagine my surprise when this wonderful Christian woman approached me one Sunday as I cradled my newest niece (who was only a few weeks old) and asked, "How does it feel to be a Grandma?" I almost dropped the poor child in an attempt to control myself from alternately crying and wanting to hurt this lady. After all, my own children were only 2 and 7 at the time. I was horrified that I looked that old. I certainly did not FEEL that old.

I got a later start in the department of motherhood than some, but I was not ancient. I suppose TECHNICALLY I could have been a Grandma if I had been a child prodigy in the art of sexuality and had a child who followed close in my footsteps. There were girls I had gone to high school with who were already rocking their grandchildren to sleep. I also know that there may have been some confusion over the fact that my mother in law (who IS the Grandma to that child) is only 10 years older than me, and is married to my husband's father who is also named John. They look similar, but are far apart in age.

When I thought about it, I realized that my initial shock came from the fact that it COULD be true. I was old enough to be a Grandma. The possibility existed. It made me uncomfortable and made me squirm, because I knew it could be true. How would I feel if someone asked me, "How does it feel to be a sinner?'' I would experience that same kind of discomfort. I would know that even if I tried really hard not to be- the possibility always exists that I will sin or indulge in sin. I don't like the way the question makes me feel.

So now whenever I see this lady coming toward me, I put on a smile, stand up straight and try really hard to look YOUNG. And every time, I resist the urge to trip her as she passes!