Each day we are renewed through our faith

I turn 70 this week. When I met up with a friend at the doctor's office — and learned she was 95 last month — I said, “Seventy probably seems a long time ago to you.” You can't drop a net on age. It's always on the move — and if I'm going to ride it, my perspective's got to keep up.

These are among the wild mix of thoughts rolling through my mind at this seven-decade milestone. The husband of one of the teachers killed in the recent Texas school shooting died two days later from a heart attack — the shock of her loss too much for him. I wonder sometimes, between my husband and me, how the one left behind will manage.

We were planning to camp on my birthday. Of all the things I might have chosen, I wanted this. It speaks to a love for being in nature, keeping it simple, and my introvert side winning out over the extrovert I'm perceived to be.

That has changed. Terry injured his hip and needs some recuperation. I canceled our camping reservation. It comes with the Garden of Growing Older. We look out for each other.

My father would have been 106 today, as I write — my mother coming on 100 in the fall. How — even if they are no longer here — could I have parents so old? Do I secretly think aging is supposed to happen to everybody but me.

Seventy sounds surreal. I was the Class of 1970 at Priest River High. Surely there's a mix up. Yet I know I'd not want to revert to that starting line. It has become apparent to me that as time troops on I mostly don't want a redo on all I've lived through.

Why is this? For one thing, it's just plain tiring to think about. I see that those moments were meant for then, these moments for now — and my strength comes for where I am, not where I was or where I'm going to be.

I don't have lifetime achievements commemorated with ribbons or awards or plaques. But I do feel I've experienced what is written of the biblical patriarch Abraham when he died — he was “satisfied with life.”

I've worked to make my relationships with others good. I am a wife, a mother, a grandmother, a friend. I've had adventures. I've appreciated the small things. I've lived gratefully. I've kept my sense of wonder. My name holds the sound of “care” when you say “Carol.” I've sought to be a caring person. The name itself means “song of joy.” A way of being I've put my heart into making come true.

It's not honest not to say I've both felt troubled — and caused trouble — in my 70 years. I've been less hurtful than some, more hurtful than others. But neither the plus nor the minus is in competition with anyone. What I understand from the Book I trust is that I'm forgiven in Christ. That this “old” creation is being renewed — made new — every day.

So how old am I? Seventy … or brand new? I am both. And on May 31 — whatever I'll be doing — that is going to feel just right.