Thirty-Five

“You formed my inmost being;
You knit me in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, so wonderfully you made me;
Wonderful are your works!
My very self you knew;
My bones were not hidden from you,
When I was being made in secret,
Fashioned as in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes foresaw my actions;
In your book all are written down;
My days were shaped, before one came to be.”
Psalm 139:13-16

I never had difficulty with an upcoming birthday before this year. At 30, I felt I had accomplished much and was looking forward to what the next decade held for me. But as this summer approached, 35 seemed to loom over me like a grey cloud threatening a thunderstorm. I started seeing furrows in my forehead and wrinkles around my eyes.

A close friend, age 41, said she also felt like 25 and 35 were big turns of age. It was like she was mentally rounding up to the next decade. So at 35 it felt like she was nearing 40 for a whole five years. By the time she was 40 it was no big deal; she had had five years to get used to the idea.

I reread “The Golden Key”, by George MacDonald, in perfect time for this milestone. The fairytale made me see aging in a whole new light, as a journey to the afterlife, with both wisdom and beauty increasing with age. I started noticing more ads for Botox, fillers, and plastic surgery. I was disgusted at the shallow, empty promises of a false face hiding one’s true self that should emerge with the passing of each decade.

Sitting at the beach this evening, I thought of the joy that accompanies the wisdom of age. For in youth there is a confusion and uncertainty, hidden by nonstop activity and endless energy. With age we become more certain of what we treasure; if that be truly valuable in God’s sense and not the world’s, the security of what we hold brings serenity.

As we realize we are indeed aging, certain new fears may emerge – such as fears of heights that never existed before; and the fear of death, nonpresent in our youth (“We’re only immortal for a limited time,” sings RUSH) makes us appreciate the life that we have. As our parents grow older we come to appreciate them even more.

And so I do believe that as we grow older our capacity for true happiness actually increases.

I very much would like to hear what my readers have to say on the subject!

A Thank You to my Readers

“But you must understand that no one ever gives anything to another properly and really without keeping it… Of one thing you may be sure, that while you hold it, I hold it too.”

These are the words spoken by Princess Irene’s great-great-grandmother in “The Princess and the Goblin”, by George MacDonald, when she gifts her a ring that holds one end of a magical string, the ball of which the old lady keeps within her own cabinet.

On this the eve of my 35th birthday, I am honored to accept an award from my friend Leticia. She has nominated me for the Nice Matters Bloggers Award.

“This award is for those bloggers who are nice people; good blog friends and those who inspire good feelings and inspiration. Also for those who are a positive influence on our blogging world. Once you’ve been awarded please pass on to seven others whom you feel are deserving of this award”.

I in turn would like to nominate the following bloggers who have both inspired and encouraged me:

1. Leticia Velasquez, my dear friend, at Cause of Our Joy

2. Joanna Gerold, my sister, at Part of Something

3. Chris Cummings, her fiancé, at Inside Out

4. Angie, who also hosts Catholic Mothers Online, at Many Little Blessings

5. Alice Gunther, at Cottage Blessings, whom I originally knew as host of Immaculate Holy Mother Homeschool Yahoo Group.

6. Natalie, one of my new readers from British Columbia, Canada, hosts a blog called Bigger Families; Faces from the Past, where she features old photos of bigger families. She is looking for contributions from other family archives.

7. Michelle Harmon at Downblogger for her beautiful poem, "No Greater Love than to Lay Down Your Life".

What is a writer? Or, more correctly, who is a writer?

If you have a child, you are a mother. Noone asks, “Have I heard of your child? Is he famous? How many children have you had? What do the critics think of your children? Are you a good mother?” to qualify you as worthy of the title Mother.

For many years I have shied away from calling myself a writer. I knew I was one, for a writer is one who writes, but I was embarrassed. I did not want to be perceived as a “wannabe”. I had not done much publishing since my college years, when I wrote for the student paper and published a thesis. So I was afraid of the polite questions people ask when you pronounce yourself a writer.

I longed to tell the world, “I am a writer! I am a writer!” I yearned to talk about what I was writing, yet was afraid it would interfere with the “creative process”. And so I kept it secret, confiding my dreams to only a select few friends.

When I declared my intentions to stop homeschooling, people started asking me what I planned to do with my “spare time”. Never mind that I had a new baby coming – I still felt I had to explain away my time. For Mothers are not seen as productive – we just are who we are.

And so I “came out”, in a gradual way. I told people I would be working on my unfinished novels. On the children’s school applications, I put down my occupation as “Freelance Writer”.

How much writing did I really do during the last school year? Not much - other than keeping my daily journal. I have written in earlier posts about the difficulties I had to battle this year. When one is tired from a baby who refuses to sleep all night, and in chronic pain from recovery from a car accident, it is hard to be be creative with your words, and physically difficult to sit at a computer for long periods of time.

As June approached, I realized with horror that I had not mailed out any proposals all year. In that last week before school let out, the fire got into my belly. I turned out five items and sent them out – hoping a little in their success, but mostly just proud that I had produced them and put them out there.

Then I took out every library book that could be had on marketing. By the time I got through those, I had had enough of reading about writing. I was ready to just write.

And then I heard about the blogosphere, through my friend Leticia. It took just five minutes to set up my own account, and I was thrust into a new phase of my writing career. Frankly, I was surprised at the amount of writing I was able to do with all of the kids home. Yet I would write in my head all day and the moment the kids were in bed I would turn on my computer. And I would be doing what I loved. (One of these days someone will come up with a thought recorder that you can attach to your head. Then you could write with ease while cooking, swimming, and playing with your kids.)

In just over a month of blogging, I have received much more than the public recognition I had long hoped for. I feel I have been liberated in such a fundamental way. My readers and I have both given and received encouragement and inspiration to and from each other. And so I thank you, my readers, for without you this would not have been possible.

“Edify one another.” – St. Paul

The Golden Key

The impression I held from my childhood reading of “The Golden Key”, by George MacDonald, was that of a gorgeous fairytale, a whimsical story of a boy and girl in search of the lock that would turn with their golden key.

When I read the story aloud to my children, however, I was amazed by the depth of its meaning. The story is so obviously about the Journey of Life, and the continuation of that Journey with Death; Growing Old Together, the Passage of Time, the Relativity of Age and Youth, and Love. Like all great fairytales, it unlocks the questions children unconsciously ask about Life. It gives them quiet answers, disguised by delightful characters, but doesn’t bludgeon them with it.

Mossy, so named because he would read in the moss until it seemed he would grow mossy, lives at the edge of Fairyland. His great-aunt tells him that he can find the golden key at the end of the rainbow. She does not know what the key is for. That would be his job to find out. One day he finds the key.

MacDonald leaves Mossy there and brings us to Tangle. He does not divide up his 78-page story into chapters. Sometimes his characters sleep – at which time I would take a break in my reading – then they get up and continue with their journey.

The fairies are disgusted with the household that is bringing up Tangle. It is a slovenly house, and fairies hate messes. The child is unkempt and disused. The maids fail to brush her hair and hence call her Tangle. The fairies decide to teach everyone a lesson by chasing Tangle out of the house.

Tangle winds up at her fairy godmother’s house. “Grandmother” summons her fish-bird to bring a boy who is sitting at the end of the rainbow. Mossy, who holds the golden key, will be a trustworthy companion for Tangle. Together they are sent to find the lock that will turn with the golden key.

The years pass by. They walk through the Valley of Shadows – I see now it is the Valley of the Shadow of Death – and are not fearful. They realize the key must unlock the Land from where the Shadows Fall, and make it their life’s journey to find that Land.

In the course of events they lose each other, and each separately run into the Old Man of the Sea, who appears as a middle-aged man. Then they meet the Old Man of the Earth, who is supposed to be even older, but appears as a young man. Finally they meet the Old Man of the Fire, who is supposed to be ancient, but appears as a baby. He shows them the way to the Land of the Shadows.

Now they are old and beautiful. They find the sapphire-encrusted lock and go up a stair that goes out of the earth, into the rainbow, and up to the Land of the Shadows.

What a delicious read. I highly recommend this book for all ages, zero through one hundred or so.

I recommend purchasing the single volume illustrated by Maurice Sendak (creator of "Little Bear").

You can read the entire text at:
http://www.mrrena.com/misc/GoldKey.shtml