For the last five years, I’ve compiled all the pictures taken on my phone during each year and I’ve made one of those photo books from Snapfish. That can add up to a lot of pictures in a year’s time. Trips, birthdays, family gatherings, Ruby being adorable, or just someone who fell asleep on the couch with their mouth open wide. In this age when our cellphones are basically our only cameras, I’d gotten lax about having our pictures printed or even saved in some cases. I decided the photo book would be the easiest solution and then I’d print only the most special ones and file them away in our photo boxes for the children to deal with after I’m gone. You know, along with those plastic tubs filled with their childhood construction paper masterpieces. 

I was looking through our 2022 book that just came in and it got me thumbing through the other four books from the previous years. I’d been noticing it but there it was in print. The natural progression of my aging. Most noticeably, the way my eyelids have started to lose hope and give up in their fight against gravity. It seems like for some, especially those who are genetically inclined like myself, the eyelids just start lying down on the job at a certain age. Like drapes that puddle on the floor. As a result, I’ve started looking less alert and less chipper. Combine that with my naturally unwelcoming resting face and we have problem. To combat this lid thing, I’ve found myself trying to open my eyes wider in pictures so to not appear strung out on drugs. Sometimes, I overcompensate and end up looking like one of those wide-eyed killers on the news, so I’ve got to find a middle ground somewhere between drugs and murder. 

Another area of skin that seems to have a notable lack of determination to stay in the game is on the neck. It starts to become billowy as it pulls away from the chin and, in a few years, I can see how it could even flap in the wind given the right conditions. If you ever struggle with vanity, consider sitting down and placing your cell phone in your lap with the camera on and turned to selfie mode. Now, lean over and look down into the screen. Yeah. I know. Whoah! I’ll give you a minute. I discovered this antidote for pride, one day, when I accidentally took a picture of myself while trying to turn off my phone’s camera. Much like the rings of a tree trunk, you can count neck rings to see how old you are. Each ring represents 7 years. PSA- For this reason, when someone asks you to take a picture of their family on vacation or at church on Easter morning, you should always hold the camera up high- at least at head level- to allow their neck skin to stretch and smooth out as they look at the camera. Everyone looks much younger from up high. You’ll thank me. 

I came home from the mountains feeling sore all over. It doesn’t take much anymore. A misstep. A new activity. Sleeping in an awkward position. Yard work. A new pillow. An unfamiliar bed. A more strenuous walk than usual. Pretty much anything can lead to soreness nowadays. A couple of weeks ago, I suffered for days with a pulled abdominal muscle from a big sneeze. My feet creak and I have a knee that pops with almost every step. Put them both together and it sounds like a crackling fire only much less calming. My ankles are sore and stiff when I wake up in the morning and I walk like King Kong to the bathroom. I can’t get too far from my tweezers. I can’t read a thing without my glasses. I make grunting noises when I’m getting up off the floor. My brain is functioning at around 70% and I can never think of the word I’m trying to say. I’m 54 years old, rounding the corner to 55, and the signs of normal aging are everywhere. 

If you’re seeing evidence of getting older, take heart. At least, aging isn’t what it used to be. Y’all know I’m a classic TV fan and I recently saw an episode of The Mary Tyler Moore Show that referenced Lou Grant’s age as being 50. Fifty? That got me curious, so I googled the ages of popular classic tv characters when their shows started and I think these will help us all feel better. The character of Aunt Bea was 58 years old in the first season. Edith Bunker was 47. Jed Clampett was 54. Grandpa Walton was 67. The Skipper was 43. Mr. Roper was 53. Columbo was 40. George Constanza was 31. Boss Hogg was 53. George Jefferson was 50. Howard Cunningham was 45. Ward Cleaver was 47. Miss Ellie Ewing was 63. Rose, Blanche, and Dorothy were early-50’s. Now, don’t we all feel better about ourselves? We needed that after counting our neck rings. I fall somewhere between Dorothy Zbornak and Aunt Bea, so I’m feeling pretty good about things now. 

I’ve never really minded birthdays or getting older. I’ve always been kind of proud of my collection of years. My collection may seem like child’s play to some and a massive, unattainable accumulation to others. There are a lot of good things I’ve noticed about aging. Years may take away the elasticity of skin, but it doesn’t leave us empty-handed. I’m more relaxed and much less stressed than in my younger days. Even though I’m not eager to try it, death isn’t as scary as it once seemed. Things I once thought were a really big deal, I realize are mostly foolishness. Now, when something happens in my physical life, I look for its spiritual significance. The qualities that impress me in people have really changed. I’m more content in that I can’t think of many material things I really want. I’m more deliberate about how I spend my time and want it to be used on something worthwhile. I’m more aware that everyone is grappling with something and deserves grace. I get Eleanor Roosevelt’s words now- “You wouldn’t worry so much about what others think of you if you realized how seldom they do.” And I’ve experienced enough life to finally recognize a pattern that God’s got me and He’s got a plan.

So, yes, as the eyelids go, so the neck goes and we won’t mention what else goes, but I like to think we’re all blossoming inside. Getting more beautiful each day. Kinder eyes. Softer hearts. Calmer minds. Gentler tongues. More committed spirits. 

True beauty always starts on the inside. 

Have a great weekend, my friends! 

JONI

Well, just a quick hello. We’re enjoying a relaxing week in the mountains with Blair and John Samuel. On our way, we picked up Blair at the end of her long week at market and met John Samuel up here in Blue Ridge, GA. Carson couldn’t make it due to the fact that he’s now a participant in the real world and hasn’t accumulated much vacation yet. We’re just enjoying each other’s company- eating, shopping, napping, hiking, and celebrating Davis’s birthday. 

It was a cold, rainy night before Christmas and I was waiting in a Wal-Mart parking lot for someone I’d only talked to on social media. It sounds awfully shady, I know. The windshield wipers were keeping the beat with my radio as I looked for a car fitting the description. A vehicle pulled up next to me and we looked quizzically at each other through the rain splattered windows, wondering if we were looking at the one we were to meet. After a nod and wave, I grabbed my things and got into her car. A stranger’s car. And we were about to go walking around in a wooded area…..on a rainy night. The only way I could’ve broken any more of my mother’s cardinal rules at one time would’ve been if I could’ve also worked in giving out my social security number, going to an ATM in the dark, and sitting on a public restroom toilet seat. Anyway, I was decked out in my rain boots, baseball cap, and rain jacket and was ready to face the elements with someone I’d just met. This is the first my mother has heard of any of this, so she’ll be calling me in 5, 4, 3, 2…..

The story started a couple of months earlier when I was driving home at night and saw a beautiful hound dog in a commercial area. Obviously out of place, he looked lost and scared and, if I have a soft spot for anything, it’s any dog from the hound family that needs help. Just ask Ruby. I’m a sucker for long ears, big feet, and droopy eyes. In a dog, at least. So, I rolled my window down and tried to talk to him, but could tell he wasn’t going to have anything to do with me. He was scared and ran away. His hangout spot is on one of my beaten paths and not too far from our house, so he was impossible to forget. When I’d see him during the daytime, I’d get out and talk sweetly to him. He’d stop and listen, but wouldn’t let me get close. After a few more encounters and getting nowhere even with food, I posted him on a lost and found pet page. I know when I’m in over my head. I was sure there were people who were well-versed in how to capture a stray dog. That’s when Amber messaged me and that’s how I was introduced to the the world of dog rescue. 

I certainly wasn’t the only one concerned about the dog. There were multiple people leaving him food and attempting to coax him into their cars with the same results. So, it’s a few days before Christmas and we pick back up where I met my new friend, Amber, in the dark parking lot. We were going to try to capture the sweet hound before that arctic blast was to come through our area. We had three days before the weather was predicted to plummet to 11 degrees with winds up to 35 mph. For two nights, we set a box trap with tempting, smelly treats as bait and would wait nearby. A canine stakeout. Sardines, hot dogs, rotisserie chicken. Apparently, those are some of the tricks of the trade. On the third night, a professional trapper came and set up his fancy contraption to try to help us. Over those three days, I learned a lot of things about dog rescue besides the fact that it’s terribly frustrating. First, I learned when one’s phone is submerged in rotisserie chicken juice, everyone who calls the said phone from then on will sound like Charlie Brown’s teacher. Secondly, when canned sardines touch any surface whatsoever, the said surface will retain the smell of sardines until time is no more. After three wet and muddy nights of bad smells, we failed to get the dog we’d all come to call Otis. 

At the beginning of the week when the weather was mild, our spirits were high and optimistic, but the night before the weather front, I commenced crying. I couldn’t stop. Davis had been helping our efforts and he was trying to reassure me with talk about instincts and undercoats and dens, but it wasn’t helping me. A posse had formed to try to help this dog and we took turns leaving him more food for extra calories. One of the ladies left a dog house in the area and others added a tarp, hay, and blankets for him. We’d done all we could do and I had to find a way to get peace with it or my family would have a miserable Christmas watching me blow my nose and my mascara run. 

When my prayers to catch Otis before the cold front weren’t answered, I changed them to asking God to protect Otis from the cold. When I shifted the care of this sweet dog from our responsibility to God’s, I finally felt a peace about it and was able to enjoy Christmas. It wasn’t what we could do to save him but what God could do to protect the creature He, Himself, had created. Our attempts failed and continue to fail even with five different visits from the professional trapper trying three different traps. But, God’s efforts didn’t. Otis survived the multiple nights of sub-freezing temps without even sleeping in the dog house and he’s still staying one step ahead of the network of people who continue to try to rescue him. He is the Road Runner and we are Wile E. Coyote with all of our fancy Acme gadgets. Otis is no dummy. 

You may or may not be an animal person. You may not even like dogs. But, God reminded me of a simple truth through that elusive hound to whom I’ve grown so attached but never even touched. A truth I seemed to have forgotten in some other areas of my life. Whatever the troubling situation- whatever problem I wish I could fix- there’s peace when I release the responsibility of solving it and just give it to God. There are many things that are too big for us. The weight is too heavy. The odds are too low. The need is too great. The solution is too far outside our ability. But, when I’ve done all that I can humanly do- all that God has led me to do, I can leave it in His hands and let Him take it from there. When I frantically work and worry about solving something, I’m acting like He’s not capable and that the outcome totally depends on me. Thank God that’s not the case. There are situations in my life- bigger, deeper, more personal situations- where I have taken the lesson learned from a stray hound and am trying to apply God’s reminder to those places as well. I should do what God has purposed me to do and leave the rest in His capable hands. 

I can’t sign off without acknowledging the amazing network of animal rescuers that are out there. They’re people with regular jobs who spend much of their free time and money on helping animals who find themselves in desperate situations. I had no idea that so many people were involved in this until I reached out for help with Otis and met Amber and people like her. Teresa, Tracie, James, Pam- just to name a few. I’m not sure how they see the situations they see and keep at it. The day before the horrible cold, they were out and about leaving storage tubs and cardboard boxes filled with hay in areas where they’d seen stray animals or animals who weren't cared for properly. Anything that would help them survive what was coming. It’s definitely a calling and not for everyone. I admire those who are willing to put their emotions on a roller coaster to help God’s creatures. 

We’re not giving up on Otis even though we’re way past plan B. I believe we’re somewhere around plan J or K, but not giving up on this beautiful boy. The next step is in motion and we’re determined he will know the warmth of a loving home soon. 

Y’all have a great day! Next week, we’re going to the mountains but I still plan to come by here and say hello. See you then! 

JONI