One writer friend wrote a
memoir about her grandmother’s youth, a lovely photograph of how Grandma met
Grandad. Another friend wrote a bio about her father and the hardships he
encountered in his youth. Both wanted to capture these moments for future
generations so that these dear people and their lives would not be forgotten.
Another friend wrote a Christian
devotional about the seasons in one’s life. Written like a workbook, the reader
studies and assesses each facet of their lives. An eye opener, the book assures
the reader that it has nothing to do with age; it might be possible to be at
the start of one project or relationship in life (the spring) while at the same
time be at the end of another cycle (the winter).
I have never been one to
notice age. As a child, I held my own among the adults around me. When I
graduated from college and started out into the world, I stood shoulder to
shoulder with my fellow adults, regardless of age or experience. I often forget
that I might be among the oldest in the room, and I only realize it when I look
in a mirror. The grey kind of gives it away.
I have lived entire lives
and am in the midst of enjoying another one. I raised a family, had a career,
and have so much that I still want to do that my dance card is full and so is
my calendar.
Maybe one day, someone
will write a memoir or a biography about me. They’ll talk about how I lived out
my seasons and did it all over again, year after year.
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