An extra one in celebration of my birthday!

I celebrated my 50th birthday on Easter Sunday this year. I got some really funny cards (mostly from my mother-in-law!) and I was treated to some very special gifts both practical and just for fun. I have celebrated with my kids, my husband, my parents, and my mother-in-law. I will celebrate some more with Rich’s sister, Ginger and her hubby, Dave later this month and in August a week of celebration with my best friend Nancy and our dear friend Lisa (who introduced us at 12 years old). I met up with a bunch of girls I went to high school with to celebrate all of us turning 50 this year and we had so much fun we’re talking about doing it again. (Meeting up that is, but turning 50 again is ok with me!)
Celebrating, planning the celebrations, being surprised by the celebrations have all been the way to turn what to some people is a difficult age to face into the most wonderful birthday I’ve had so far. But I am finding that becoming 50 is a joyful (even if somewhat doctor filled) time. I looked in the mirror recently and noticed 3 deep lines on my left cheek bone and wow, when I smile the crow’s feet dance all over my eyes! But somehow, that’s ok. I stood back and looked not at the whole of my hair, but just the top where the natural crop is shining through and realized, I really LIKE my gray hair. Now, I know that is almost un-American. But I can’t help it. I really like it! I can’t wait to grow it all out gray. I want long gray curls before I turn 55. That’s an attainable goal:0)
And I have thought about why all this aging is ok with me when I am surrounded by a culture that screams “You must do all you can to stay young, to look 20 years younger than you are!” And I think I get it a little. First of all, I had 2 grandmothers who wore their age well. I don’t mean they looked younger. Quite the opposite. My maternal grandmother, Mom Mom as most of my friends and family knew her, had silver white hair at 38 years old and was proud of it. Yet, her youthful vigor and amazing strength out-worked me, out-lasted me, time after time. She was amazing in so many ways. My paternal grandmother also gave me something to look forward to. One thing I remember is that her dark hair lasted while streaks of silver slowly began to coat through her locks. I thought she was so pretty and I never told her so. But she was as active and lively, full of life and friends right up until she passed on. I have a treasury full of sweet memories with both of them and I know that is a precious thing. More than that, I want to be that kind of grandmother. I want to be remembered by my grandchildren for the vigor and accomplishments they saw when I am 60; and I want them to remember the fun they had with me when they are turning 50 (Lord willing).
Recently our seminary class had a class on goal setting and starting with Life goals. That lesson really spun my wheels and I have moved out with intention from that point. This blog is one of the results of that class. Coming just weeks before my BIG birthday, it struck a chord.
Although our society, our culture does not honor age, scripture does. It says that children’s children are a reward, that silver hair is a crown for the “aged”; and equates age with what should have become wisdom along the way. I want to stand before my Father, before my Savior, filled up with His precious Spirit, with my long gray hair, crows’ feet, and grand canyon face crevices and hear Him say “Well done. . .enter in”. Even more, I want Him speak the name of His child, my name on His lips, and know that I have served him better in my last than in my first days. I want to know that what I leave behind simply points others to the truth of His love, of His forgiveness, of His incredible desire for us to know Him and to know that He loves us. So I plan to spend the next 40 or 50 years accomplishing these things.
I have laughed as well-wishers make comments about becoming middle aged or NOW being over the hill. I mean I don’t know how ya’ all count, but the average age for a woman in this country is 85 and half (or midway to) is not 50, sorry. As for that hill, honey, I am sliding down the other side with a woohoo and a weeeeeee slipping through my teeth as I head toward the goal line. And with what I hope is a bit of wisdom, I encourage you to count the blessings and trust Him with the pain of life; take life serious for you only go around once, but not too seriously; and if you haven’t done so, make yourself a life goal list, then get to it! If you get stuck call me, I’ve got a few ideas. Blessings. Cheri

Just wondering

I wonder as you sat there with your bread in hand
Did he think about what his betrayal meant?
And I wonder as he listened to Your voice
Did he know the grace, the mercy the Father already had sent?
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in your eyes?
Though the others were caught off guard
You were not surprised.

And I can’t help wondering if he remembered moments when
Your voice calmed the sea and your touch healed men?
And it astounds me so that he could have 3 years walked with You,
And still not believed enough to understand too.
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in your eyes?
Though the others were caught off guard
You were not surprised.

And I can’t help wondering when the cock sounded his crow
Did Peter feel Your love as his tears began to flow?
And it astounds me so that he could have declared You the Christ
And then days later not understood that price.
Did he know you knew? Did he see it in Your eyes?
Though he was caught off guard
You were not surprised.

And I can’t help wondering how I can miss a day
Standing in amazement at the price you’ve paid?
Yet, I know I’ve betrayed you and I know I’ve denied
And I’ve wondered if I get it and that I too have lied.
That I’m just like them with my tears in my eyes.
Do I know you knew? Do I see it in your eyes?
Though I was caught off guard
You were not surprised.


One of the most intriguing things about the Passion Week to me is the love of Christ toward those he knew would betray him, deny him, leave him, and disbelieve him. He knew. Yet he called Simon, “Peter”, a rock. And he gave Judas the job of treasurer! They had heard his voice, seen his miracles, walked and slept and listened and looked into the eyes of the Eternal One and they failed him, and he knew they would. He loved them. Still. Even so. And in that wonderful, honest, naked truth of the gospel I see his loving kindness toward me. There is nothing I have done; nothing I am doing; nothing I will do that He has not already seen, planned, and touched with His spirit so that it will work for my benefit, shaping me into the image of the Precious One. His resurrection astounds me deeper than I can describe. His crucifixion mortifies me in the knowledge that it was because of me and every individual “small” sin I have ever committed. But His loving kindness, His gentle mercy toward me humbles me to tears. And all of this wrapped up in one man, one week in history is too much to comprehend. But that’s ok, because He’s not caught off guard and He is not surprised. He knows I am but dust and He loves me anyway. (By the way, He feels the same about you.)