the chair next to mine

I am an old soul. Not that I feel old--well wait, I take that back. Yesterday I did a four mile hike and trail run, so I'm feeling old and sore and creaky today, but in general--I'm holding together fairly well for my age. But I don't really remember being a child. I felt like I wanted to grow up quickly. Not in that way that makes some kids take up smoking or promiscuity or the family car without permission when they're 12 (I only ever did that last one...), but in the way that I wanted to get smart and old as quickly as I could so I could join the adults in their conversations and decision making. I think, mostly, I wanted to exert some type of control over my world that seemed too often out of control due to those blows life deals. I think I can also point to that old-soulness for the fact I've always loved hanging out with the elderly. And watching Lawrence Welk.

Today in church, my two older boys were singing in the choir and my two younger ones had stayed home with their dad--leaving me a rare Sunday where I was sitting by myself. My eyes kept coming back again and again to the woman a few rows in front of me...

There she was in her paisley silk dress coat, her hair freshly set in curls. I had watched her shuffle slowly in, hunched over, and sit in an empty row. She set her purse down on the seat next to her. And that's how she stayed for the next two hours.

I watched her wipe her eyes as one of the speakers shared an especially touching story. Watched her gaze fix on the wives rubbing at their husband's backs, watch all the toddlers wobbling by in the halls, watch all the young mothers breezing by her with babies tucked over their shoulders. I knew she must be considering her own husband and children, remembering those fleeting days of impromptu back rubs and holding babies. I knew her body must be hurting--sitting on those hard metal chairs. I knew she probably wanted someone next to her to whisper to about what she was thinking and feeling, to take her cold hand in their warm one.

I knew because there I was, two rows behind her, probably 50 years her junior, yet...the same. I was sitting in an empty row, surrounded by families. My dress came from Forever 21 and my purse had a union jack on it, but I, too, was watching the couples and the little ones and the babies. I, too, was experiencing that bittersweet feeling of how quickly time passes and grows our babies up. I, too,  was feeling the longing for someone strong and soft and warm by my side. All the while bawling because I was so proud of my Z and E up at the front, singing so beautifully, knowing (thankfully) that I still had a lot of happy years of mothering ahead of me.

I think too, though, that the woman was also feeling a peace and connection to those around her. A sense of accomplishment and gentle pride that accompanies any life well lived. And I hope when my body finally catches up to the age of my soul, that I will get out of bed even when I'd rather not. That I'll still take enough thought as to my appearance to fix my hair and put on my best dress--even with no one to impress. That I will take my purse and my achy body and go to church, confident I still have things to offer.

Even to that woman two rows behind me that I don't even realize I'm teaching by doing nothing.

I only kick myself that I didn't go sit next to her. Put her purse on the floor and sit in that spot. Next time, I will. And hoping that whole "good intentions" thing counts for something.

I'm holding my 14, 12, 7, and 5 year old "babies" a little closer today. I'm praying a little harder to know when the right man and the right time have arrived. I'm praying to keep having patience and contentment until then. Praying, that at some point, I'll have more than a purse to sit by, but praying that should it never come, I still continue to enjoy life anyway, and never just endure it.