Sometimes I feel like an old woman.
I also felt like an old woman on Christmas Eve when I was watching my little siblings (ages 5-10) sing Christmas carols up on stage with all the other kids at church. I don’t know why exactly, but tears just started running down my face. I couldn’t stop them, they just kept rolling on down.
When I was little, I never understood why my parents and grandparents would get so excited about every little performance I was in, even when I was just one little girl in the midst of a crowd of kids singing the same song or doing the same dance, but now I understand. I’m not sure I can put it into words, but I understand.
It’s because they’re yours.
This irrationally great and overwhelming pride and tenderness overtakes you as you watch them dutifully do the choreographed motions, as you imagine them rehearsing these motions numerous times, taking the time and effort to prepare this little performance for you. You think about where they’ve come from to get to this moment, the journey you’ve all been on thus far, and gratefulness and wonder fills you.
It’s the same way I’ve felt many times during this trip home (though I haven’t always cried). Looking around and seeing how kids have grown up and matured, recognizing prayers I’ve prayed that have been answered, laughing with friends I haven’t talked to in months to years and realizing that some things never change.
I know I’m not an old woman.
I’m not even 27 yet, so for at least another month I can still claim to be in my “mid-twenties.” But sometimes I already feel like a grandmother, looking over a generation of blessings and feeling full and content. These are the moments of appreciation.
Since I am indeed young, I shall let these moments inspire me with vision for what’s to come, too. More love, more joy, more growing and maturing and relating to each other with ever-increasing understanding, depth, and warmth.