My hair was still damp as I stood there after my shower, wrapped in a green bath towel and brushing my teeth. That's when I first saw it--a flash of something light-colored fluttering by the side of my face. What in the world? I quickly looked in the mirror to see what it was, but everything was a blur. I tried squinting, but knew full well that wouldn't work. You see, my glasses were somewhere on the floor next to my bed, right where they had fallen when I had taken them off the night before. Now I would have to go find them. But I decided to finish polishing the proverbial ivories first, in spite of the flapping, fluttering motion beside me. Whatever it was, it was silent and had rhythm.
I spat out the last of my tooth paste, then padded into the bedroom, stood by my bed and looked down where my glasses should be. I didn't see them. Now, sadly, comes true confession time. I need glasses to see well enough to find my glasses! It's all part of getting old they say.
So, this "old" lady had to get down on her hand and knees to see her glasses. Let me tell you, that isn't easy to do while wrapped in a bath towel. Anyway, I got down without my towel falling off and found my glasses without having to feel around for them. Then came the difficult feat of getting back on my feet without losing my loosening towel. Oh, the aches and pains. It's all part of getting old they say.
Finally, with my feet under me once again, glasses on my face, and towel tightened, I returned to the bathroom to look for something that might flutter. As you have probably guessed by now, nothing was evident. So, I decided to blow-dry my freshly shampooed hair. With my round brush in one hand and dryer in the other, I began the beautifying process. What? There it was again.
Not a flutter did I see, but a wiggle and a jiggle it was. Stopping in mid brush stroke, I stared into the mirror. Nothing moved. I began brushing and drying again--slowly this time. All was calm in the bathroom world. As I finished up, I did the old fluff-up-the-hair routine and was startled to see it again out of the corner of my eye, the flash of... Yes, you've got it, the flash of flesh. My once-toned upper arm had become a limp, flabby, fluttering, wiggly, jiggly glob of flesh that silently waved with the rhythm of my shoulder. It is all part of getting old they say.
Well, I'm not getting old. My hair may be more white than brown, by neck may be sagging, my eyes failing, my joints aching, and my arms jiggling, but I am not getting old. I am still young-at-heart, eager to learn, quick to listen, and slow to get up (I mean slow to speak). I love sports, music with a beat, and a good sermon. I believe God is supreme, all powerful, a just judge, the lover of my soul, and has a sense of humor. He did create the platypus, didn't he? I know Jesus is my Bread of Life, my Living Water, my All-in-All, and has deep feelings. He cried over Jerusalem, didn't he? And I'll sing "Jesus Loves Me" and "The B I B L E" with the youngest of folks. No, I'm not getting old no matter what they say.
By the way, just who are "They" anyway?
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