Being sick means catching up on my bloglines and thinking (because how many hours a day can a person sleep?). For some reason, I've been thinking about how my mother always said that she wouldn't want to go back and be my age again, no matter what it was -- 20, 25, 30, 35, whatever. You have to understand that my mother was seriously ill and in enormous pain for many years before her passing in 2004. I would think, "But if you were 25, you would feel better," and other such things, but she always insisted that she wouldn't want to go back. And that's what I've pondered.
I think of my own life and realize that I share my mother's view. In my early 20's I was in great shape; I did 90 -minute workout classes and even attended fitness boot camps. Would I go back to that time in my life if I could? No. There have been times in my adult life when I've been wrinkle-free, or had more free time, or more money in the bank. Would I go back to those times? Not a chance.
In spite of any perks we may have experienced at various points along the way, we know that at all times we were and are sinners, depraved, and prone to botch things up. There are lows to go along with those highs, and although hopefully we learn from them, few would want them to repeat.
Mostly, I think my mother lived with a closer knowledge of her own mortality than I've ever had cause to experience. She lived a life of pain with grace because she knew this life was transitory and there was something far sweeter waiting for her. Every day was one step closer to meeting her Savior and that perfect peace, each passing day a victory.