On big birthdays, broken china and other parables

Some birthdays cannot be ignored. The notable number may vary by the person, but the effect is the same — ground shifts.

For me, it has been the year between 59 and 60, a frankly rough season that recently wrapped up. Thank you, Jesus.

It is no mystery why 59 got to me as it approached. That is the age at which my father died unexpectedly in his sleep while I was home on break from college.

History like that can spark fear, even dread. And, while I’d prefer to say I walked that valley in victorious bliss, I did not. I’m human like that.

Sixty, to add fuel to the fire, is the age at which the Associated Press considers the subject of stories to be “elderly.” Even when I was a whippersnapper journalist, I felt uncomfortable labeling someone “the elderly driver” or whatnot. It carries an unwritten accusation of incompetence, of failing.

Death and decline.

Oh, yeah. I knew it was going to be a long year. And, it was. But, enter God. Right into the middle of this late-life crisis.

He spent a chunk of the year telling what I now consider a personal parable. He addressed my every fear of death and decline in ways so direct it’s almost laughable. And, since then, He has pushed me into a season of re-do that has stretched from my job to, bizarrely, my china cabinet.

The parable began to unfold on a lovely summer day, when I tripped — for utterly inexplicable reasons — breaking my nose and sustaining a bad concussion.

Falling and breaking. How, well, elderly.

I had no idea. The black eyes faded quickly. Recovery from the rest took me into autumn. Watching for a brain bleed. Vertigo. Fried-mother-board confusion. Headaches. Exhaustion. Inability to read. Inability to drive.

Elderly on steroids. Everything I was so afraid of.

Or, was it?

The gap between where I was and where I wanted to be was large. But, people stepped into it. Family, friends, church people, medical workers. They were all there. Thank God for them.

God stepped in even moreso — calming my spirit, encouraging me toward recovery, never failing to illustrate that His love is bigger than anything affecting my brain or body. That His ability is bigger than any inability I might encounter.

He even brought change into the gap. I left a job I was ready to leave and took time to recover. Other work appeared just when I was well enough to start again and I had exciting, new things to think about.

Not so “elderly” after all. Perhaps.

But, in case I missed any major points of God’s first story, second parable appeared right under the wire.

We were celebrating 60 with dinner and lovely cake made by one of our visiting daughters. Happy, happy.

But, moments after the dishes were cleared, it was literally a group hug that sparked zoomies in the dog. He skidded across a hallway rug like he was sliding into home.

The crash was astounding. Like a waterfall. But, it was china. And crystal. Many of our wedding gifts and a collection of tea cups were in a heap beneath our fallen china cabinet.

(Finn dog was already out the door, too fast to get hurt.)

It could have felt ominous. Loss. Ending. Again with the brokenness. Memories gone. And all during a birthday marking the start of a personal winter.

But, it didn’t. It just felt like God, riffing on a point.

We fussed a bit with each other, earned a couple of bandages, but saved maybe 10 percent of the collection. Everything else went to the curb, sealed in boxes taped as if we were planning to drop them from the roof.

And, that’s surprisingly OK.

Things change at 20. Things change at 60. Sometimes for the worse — and God is there. Sometimes for the better. God is there, too.

My overstuffed cabinet — whose de-glassed door I plan to fill with wire mesh and whose brownness I plan to paint a warm white — looks suddenly playful. A handful of precious tea cups remain — some of them sassily paired with saucers in compatible designs rather than their original match.

A tropical butterfly specimen from my scientist husband has price of place. A tiny, blue salt dish — with spoon — is suddenly noticable.

It looks like a cabinet thrifted by a Gen Zer. There’s nothing “elderly” about it. Not that it would matter if there were.

It’s true. I’m not meant for earth-bound forever anymore than is a tea cup. But, there are adventures to be had between here and there. I can feel it.

Nicely told, God, nicely told. Happy birthday to me indeed.