I used to dream of running. (Hey, I said I dreamt of it; I never said I actually did it.) Now I dream of eating. (Okay, I do more than dream. I actually eat!) Body parts used to NOT jiggle when I walked. Or stood. Or sat. Now they ALWAYS jiggle when I walk, stand, or sit. I used to have big dreams, and I would constantly imagine them coming true. However, I spent a lot of time doing ONLY that… imagining. At this time in my life, I don’t have time to JUST dream, I have to make those dreams happen. Wait, I should rephrase – I cry out to God to make them happen.

If you’re new to the blog, I’ve just turned 40. The clock is ticking…

I had a grandmother who loved clocks. She had them everywhere. At night, when the house was quiet, I could hear tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock so crystal clear it would create a rhythm that would soothe me to sleep. Now, the sound is trapped in my head but it is not so soothing. The noise of the ticking and tocking (I am aware tocking isn’t a word, but it fits, and therefore I’m making it a word.) is enough to make me insane! I’m trying to race the clock. The problem is just like I don’t run physically, because I jiggle WAY too much to run comfortably. I also don’t seem to run figuratively, because I always carry a hint of trepidation with me, which causes discomfort. (Does this make sense? I honestly have no idea if it does. I know what I mean. The question is… do you know what I mean?  I’m off topic.)

So, you’re probably wondering how my age-obsessing-ways began again. (I know! I was doing so well!) It all started when I was reading a beautifully articulated blog post by a very successful, talented author who happens to be a Christian, have small children, and the world on a string. I clicked on her picture. She is YOUNG! VERY YOUNG! And that is when I started noticing it…

The popular actresses are mostly all younger than I am. The hair dressers at the salon are all younger than I am. Fine wine… YOUNGER THAN I AM! (Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating about the wine… I hope.) But then in the middle of my relapse surrounding midlife crisis, I started thinking about Moses.

Moses was 40 years-old when He first fled Pharaoh, to dwell in the land of Midian, after killing the Egyptian. (Acts 7:23-24) And though it would be another 40 years until the burning bush (Acts 7:30), his ministry really started to bud at age 40. (I do realize they lived longer back then, but I’m choosing to ignore that little tidbit for now.)

If Moses began a new life and new ministry at age 40, then so can I! (Please don’t think I’m trying to compare my spirituality with that of Moses. I am not. I just LOVE that he was age 40 when the first huge change in his life occurred.)

Anyway, this is what has been stirring around in this little-bit-of-crazy mind of mine. I thought I would share just in case you missed my tiny obsessive rants regarding that mean old number 40… (I should add as a disclaimer that I’m very sick with a cold. I am certain that most of my crazy thoughts have been formed as a result of the haze caused from cold medicine, vitamin C, and Echinacea. ACHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!)