More Than 50 Shades of Gray

When I make it to church on Sunday mornings, my G-girl is usually the first to jump aboard my lap. Not only is she faster than her baby brothers, she's also more possessive. Which means if they happen to get to me first, she is absolutely not above pushing them off of my lap.

I'm crazy about this tiny force of nature. She has a unique way of tugging on my heartstrings while simultaneously putting me in my place, unlike any other who has come before. Even as she leans in for Butterfly Kisses, she's poking at my fat roll with playful giggles.

Then, because she is made of equal parts sugar and spice, she will sit back and look deep into my eyes, assuring herself that my feelings have not been hurt, that I am laughing with her. Of course I am laughing. I know her heart completely. So much of she is me.

Confident that she has not yet gone too far, she then inevitably goes too far. She reaches up and swipes her fingers across my cheek. Hard. Hard enough to steal the youthful, glowing makeup right off my face.

Still giggling, she brushes her fingers across her own cheeks and unfailingly asks, “Am I shiny?”

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For some reason, the fact that the shiny comes off my face so easily is much more unsettling than having fat rolls large enough to accommodate the fingers of a precocious 6-year old.

How did I get to this strange place...old enough to have lost my 'shiny' but too young to be truly wise?

With a 30-something brain inhabiting a 55-year old body...how can middle-age be anything but confusing and unsettling?

My friends are not only becoming grandparents, they are taking blood pressure meds and having surgeries to replace worn out body parts. When we spend time together, our conversations unfailingly erode to bowel movements and leaky bladders.

Sheesh.

Gone is the boundless optimism of my 20's, the abundant opportunity of my 30's, the endless confidence of my 40's. I'm not sure where it all went, but it has somehow been replaced with gray hair, an extra 35 pounds and myopic eyesight.

Even as a society, we celebrate beginnings and immortalize endings. But the middle? Meh.

Exhibit A: The Oreo

(Although sweet and tasty, let's be honest.  The middle is the messiest and most fattening part of the cookie.)

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Middle age means remembering to suck in my chin when taking pictures. 

Midde age means I am just One Weak Kegel away from wearing Depends.

Middle age means my body has a mind of it's own and my mind doesn't mind at all.

And yet...

My friends and I have not spent the past fifty plus years consuming oxygen for nothing.  We. Are. Boomers.

We came into this world with a BANG! With a SPLASH! With a BOOM!!

Give us a few days with some ibuprofen and an ice pack and by golly, we'll spend the rest of our lives going out exactly the same way we came in. Except, well...slower.  Maybe not so much of a boom. And much more careful...less banging. 

But still... 

 SPLASH.

IT ALL COMES DOWN TO GRACE

I sure have enjoyed seeing pictures of the fresh-faced 2012 graduates in my mail and on Facebook over the past few weeks. From kindergarten to college, there is something so special about a beaming smile shining beneath mortar board and tassel.  Family, friends, and spouses peeking over their shoulders. Everyone bursting with pride and accomplishment.

And rightly so. Graduation is one of the Rites of Life. Passage from one stage to the next. Victory worth celebrating.

So why is it when graduation rolls around each year, my palms get all sweaty and my stomach gets queasy???

It's a conditioned response that goes back to the years when I was responsible for orchestrating the slide show for our church's High School Senior Banquet.

Creating a slide show today is a virtual walk in the park, what with all the digital tools at our disposal. But in the 80's and early 90's...? Not so much.

Old school slide shows consisted of turning photographs into 35 mm slides which were placed one by one in a Kodak carousel and projected onto a large screen, hopefully in some semblance of synchronicity with the the sappy pre-recorded music blasting from a jam box cassette. The entire production was unbelievably time consuming and full of potential glitches.

All because of those pesky little 35 mm cardboard slides.

I would spend hours collecting the photos, getting the slides developed, putting them in order and selecting just the right music to tug at the fragile hearts of parents who would be watching their sons and daughters bloom to life on a projector screen.

Yet, no matter how much love and hard work I put into those slide shows, there remained the ever-present threat of a rogue slide sticking in the carousel and stopping the show. Slideshow Interruptus became my greatest fear.

I went through so many trial runs that my eyes looked as though they were bleeding. I made sure beyond a shadow of a doubt there were no upside down slides, or worse...an empty slot in the carousel which would create a burst of light bright enough to burn the retina right off your eyeball.

Regardless of my preparation, I unfailingly developed a case of the 'trots' on banquet night. While the seniors and their families enjoyed the lovely meal, I would check and re-check the equipment between mad dashes to the restroom.

And then, the Big Moment would arrive. The lights would dim and the room would hush in anticipatory silence as I nervously pushed the 'play' button on the jam box. As the syrupy sounds of child-rearing songs filled the air, I would cross my fingers, toss up a prayer and slowly squeeze the remote of the projector.

I had 'em from the first slide. Few things get to a Mama like seeing the face of her Pride and Joy immortalized on a 15-foot screen. Sentimental slices of life captured in Kodachrome. An idealized past shining from a snaggle-toothed photograph.

Egged on by the “ooooohs and awwwws”, I would continue to methodically click the remote from slide to slide in perfect unison with the music. The strains of “Friends Are Friends Forever...” played to the background accompaniment of parental sniffles. My confidence built as graduate after graduate grew up before our eyes.

And then...

And Then.....

AND THEN, THE NEXT FREAKING SLIDE GOT STUCK IN THE CAROUSEL!  NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Just like that, the love spell was broken. The audience would giggle nervously.

Like a pissed-off ninja, I would quickly grab my trusty butter knife and frantically dig the renegade slide from the carousel. Gouged and bent, the insolent slide would be chucked to the floor as I frantically whispered another prayer and shakily resumed the slide-show. At which point, the audience would usually applaud politely, having more faith than me in my ability to get the show back on track.

Grace shining through.

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As my thoughts wandered back to those perilous days of High School Senior Banquets, from the perspective of distance I couldn't help but view the entire production as a metaphor for life.

How clearly those slides represent the times we would like to 'freeze-frame' for a moment. Stop and examine. Give the appreciation it deserves.

Appreciate it, then go onto the Next Phase.

Go on to the Next Phase.

Go on.

GO!!

Hmmmm...it seems we have somehow gotten STUCK. Crap. Completely inconvenient and totally annoying. And a HUGE waste of time until we finally come to the realization that we are not going to get UNSTUCK without some help. No way. No how.

OOWWWWIEEE! OUCH! Why were we NOT informed that getting unstuck could be painful? Could even leave a scar?

Permanent reminders of tough times in the carousel of life.

The applause goes to those who don't stay stuck. Big, big applause to those who keep on going – scars and all. Slightly damaged, but oh so brave.

Metaphor, indeed.

And here's the kicker:  Throughout this arduous, unpredictable process, some of us are just silly enough to keep on believing that our story will end in Happily Ever After.

Maybe not today, or even tomorrow, but eventually...happily.  Ever after.

Because even though we ride like fools through the carousel of life with our sweaty palms and our trusty butter knives...even though we want to believe that we are producing this show, that WE are in control...

When the carousel stops...

                And the lights come on...

                                    We suddenly remember...

                                                       It all comes down to...
                                                                    

                                                                                  GRACE.