February and ever after...

 

Source: Etheric Echoes on Facebook

I want to be sure

 

Oh, the nights I have wasted

Caught up in my head

When I could be sleeping

And dreaming instead

The hours I’ve spent

Wishing I could be thinner

And picking apart

What I’d see in the mirror

The days I have lost

To my stubborn self-doubt

The time it has cost me

To count myself out

The moments I’ve missed

Wishing I could be more

Then hating myself

Every time I fell short

The seconds I’ve squandered

As time ticked on by

Whilst I tried to reach

For a bar set too high

But that’s in the past -

Time spent worrying, wishing,

The dark, sleepless nights

And the things I was missing

Cause all of those hours

And days are now gone;

No time to look back

Only time to move on

To more time for sleeping

And more time for dreams

Less time to tear myself

Apart at the seams

Less time for mirrors

And less time for hate

Less doubting myself

Whilst I’m lying awake

More time to limbo

The bar that I set

More moments for stubborn

Self-love and respect

‘Cause time marches on

It will never stand still

And I don’t want all of

My days to be filled

With wanting and worry,

With dread and with doubt

No, I want to be sure

I’ve made

each

moment

count

*****

Becky Hemsley 2023

Artwork by Gisele Oliveira F (gisifraga on Instagram)

This poem is from Words to Remember

Source: Becky Hemsley Poetry on Facebook

Secret Places - Jeff Victor

Image source: Etheric Echoes on Facebook

Music is my favorite CD Secret Places by Jeff Victor shared from YouTube

I have earned the right.

 

Stop looking at me with that "sad puppy" face when I tell you I live alone. I’m 81 years old. I live by myself in the house I’ve owned for forty years. And I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen.

When people hear "elderly woman living alone," their minds go straight to the dark places. "Are you lonely?" "Aren't you scared at night?" "Maybe it's time to move in with your daughter?"

Bless their hearts, they mean well. But there is a secret about aging that nobody tells you: I’m not just "living alone." I am living with dignity.

I did my tour of duty. I raised three kids. I packed thousands of brown-bag lunches, scrubbed grass stains out of baseball uniforms, worked double shifts, and stretched a dollar bill until it screamed just to keep food on the table. I sat on hard bleachers in the rain. I waited up on the couch until the headlights pulled into the driveway. I listened to heartbreaks at 2:00 AM and kept everyone’s secrets.

My life was full. It was loud. It was chaotic. It was wonderful.

And now? Now, there is silence. The floorboards creak, but they are familiar sounds. The footsteps are just mine.

For a little while, after my husband passed, I thought the silence meant something was wrong with me. Society tells us: "You need to be with family." "You shouldn't be by yourself."

I started to wonder... am I selfish for wanting my own space? Am I "broken" because I don't cry myself to sleep every night?

Then, one morning, I sat at my kitchen table with my coffee and watched the sun hit the front porch. And it hit me: I am not abandoned. I am not forgotten. I am free.

I can still think clearly. I write my own checks for the electric bill. I decide what happens in my day.

And my day is beautiful: Breakfast at noon if I feel like it. Reading a book without interruption. Original work by The Story Maximalist. Watching my shows without fighting over the remote. Watering my hydrangeas and talking to them like old friends.

My children have their own loud, busy lives now—and I am so proud of them. They visit on Sundays. They call. They care. But it is not their job to fill every hour of my day. I raised them to be independent, and they allow me to be the same.

Living alone doesn't mean I am unloved. It means I am trusted. They trust my strength. They trust my mind. They trust that I will pick up the phone and ask for help if I really need it. And I do ask—when I need it. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.

I’m not isolated. The mailman waves every morning. The girl at the grocery store knows I like my bananas a little green. The ladies from church call and ask, "You still kicking?" and we laugh until our sides hurt.

No, I am not always happy. Sometimes the sadness comes. But sadness comes to everyone—married people, single people, teenagers, and seniors.

What I feel most of the time isn't loneliness. It is peace. Peace in my favorite armchair. Peace in my quiet routine. Peace in knowing that for 60 years I took care of everyone else...

And now? Now I have earned the right to just take care of me.

Source: The Story Maximalist on Facebook

Lord, today I choose gratitude.

 

Lord, today I choose gratitude. Not because everything is perfect, but because this day itself is a gift from You. Another morning to wake up, another breath in my lungs, another opportunity to notice Your quiet faithfulness.

I didn’t earn today, yet You placed it gently in my hands. Help me not rush past it chasing what’s next or replaying what’s already gone. Teach me to stay present, to receive this day as it is, holy and full of unseen grace.

There are blessings hidden in today that I haven’t noticed yet, small mercies, quiet moments, ordinary joys that only reveal themselves when I slow down. Open my eyes to see them. Open my heart to receive them with thanksgiving.

Remind me that today is enough. Yesterday has passed, tomorrow is uncertain, but this moment is filled with Your presence. Let gratitude shape how I speak, how I love, and how I live today.

Thank You for today, Lord. For all it holds, and for walking with me through it.

In Jesus’ name,

Amen.

Source: Keys to the Kingdom on Facebook

Billy Strings killer vocal! "Ive Just Seen the Rock of Ages" Worcester, MA

I was standing by the bedside
Where my fevered mother lay
When she called me close beside her
And I thought I heard her say

I've just seen the rock of ages
Jacob's ladder hanging down
I've just crossed the river of Jordan
Now, my son, I'm homeward bound

As we gathered by her bedside
The tears begin to fill our eyes
Then she called me close beside her
And whispered softly her good-byes

I've just seen the rock of ages
Jacob's ladder hanging down
I've just crossed the river of Jordan
Now, my son, I'm homeward bound

Pine trees blowing cross the mountain
Where forever she will lay
There she'll rest beside the fountain
There she'll sleep beneath the clay

I've just seen the rock of ages
Jacob's ladder hanging down
I've just crossed the river of Jordan
Now, my son, I'm homeward bound

What Does It Feel Like to Be Old?

 

“What Does It Feel Like to Be Old?”

Someone asked me recently,

“What does it feel like to be old?”

And I almost laughed—

because, truthfully… I don’t feel old.

Yes, the mirror shows silver in my hair and soft lines around my eyes,

but inside?

My spirit still hums the songs of youth.

It dances like it did when I was twenty.

So I smiled and said,

“Growing older… is a privilege.”

These wrinkles?

They’re laugh lines from stories well-lived.

These gray strands?

They’re silver threads stitched from wisdom and wonder.

I no longer chase flat stomachs or flawless skin.

I chase sunrises, quiet joy, and the kind of laughter that makes your ribs ache.

I don’t apologize for sleeping in,

for letting the dishes wait,

or for having ice cream for dinner.

I stay up till 3 a.m. watching old movies in my robe,

reading books that take me places my feet never will—

and I feel no guilt for it.

Sometimes I dance in my kitchen to tunes from the ’50s.

Sometimes I cry over a memory I thought I’d forgotten.

And both are sacred.

Both are signs that I’ve lived and loved deeply.

I’ve said too many goodbyes.

Buried people I loved far too soon.

But I’m still here—

Still breathing,

Still finding reasons to smile.

And yes, I’ll wear the swimsuit.

I’ll run into the waves without shame.

Let them stare.

If they’re lucky, they’ll get here too.

The older I get, the more I trust the quiet voice inside me.

I don’t cling to the past.

I don’t fear what’s ahead.

I simply live.

With love.

With courage.

With gratitude.

So… what does it feel like to be old?

It feels liberating.

It feels fierce.

It feels beautiful.

And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Source: Restful on Facebook

I don't remember where I found the photo below, but seems fitting to add to this post.