Day by Day the 'MillieWay' (by Peter Black)

A tiny cottage nestles in the woods on a country road, with little more than the basic services of electricity and a land phone. The lady of the house pretty much takes care of herself and day-to-day chores with a little help from her son, who calls by from time to time to ensure she is OK.

Not Millie's Cottage
Courtesy: Google free

Not only is her home tiny, she’s tiny, too. Obviously frail, she weighs in at well under one hundred pounds. The actual number doesn’t even match her age – ninety-eight! Suggestions that she should move into town don’t receive much of a hearing from her. And her friends’ statements of concern that, “it’s so lonely and remote out here,” don’t gain any traction at all.
  

Millie reminds me that physical frailty doesn’t necessarily equate to either weakness of character or of spirit. This tiny titan has character and spirit in abundance. Her stalwart independence was developed throughout her life’s journey, meeting challenges and disappointments, bereavements and losses along the way.

Not Millie: IStock Photo

However, her independence represents only one side:

~ She lives alone, but is not lonely.

~ She is frail and weak, yet she is strong.

~ Her means are modest, yet she abounds in the richness of contentment.

Here’s the other side: Many decades ago Millie committed her life to the Lord Jesus. He is to her a close and constant companion.

Importantly, she didn’t get stuck on the periphery of the Christian life, but journeyed along that pathway, exercising dependence on God’s grace, growing in faith and in her relationship with the Lord. Reading the biblical scriptures and meditating on their implications and significance for her life, while keeping daily prayer appointments with God and serving others in His name – these have given her sustaining power.

This indomitable soul has faced her todays with gratitude and grace, despite whatever her yesterdays might have brought. And now Millie continues facing her tomorrows in readiness of spirit. She’s homeward bound to be with Jesus, her Lord and Saviour, while continuing house-bound in her tiny cottage in the woods, journeying on into this—another New Year, with hope and peace, joy and love. . . . And contentment.

Contentment – what a great quality!

Hopes, dreams, aspirations and ambitions, and even discontentment might be OK, if well-placed and well-focused; they can occupy an appropriate, beneficial place in our lives.

Of course, unless these desires and motivations are honourable and others-oriented and we go about fulfilling them by honourable means, such urges may consume us with a soul-destroying selfish obsession. Unchecked, they can leave a trail of ruined lives, broken relationships and families, violence and crime and murder, and even become amplified as feuding communities and countries at war.

But this isn’t so with folks like Millie and friends of hers I’ve come to know. Regardless of whether people are financially poor or wealthy, they can be either intensely selfish and discontented, or selfless and truly contented.

Let US journey on into the New Year, balancing contentment and ambition the “Millie way.” It was Apostle Paul’s way, too – content and ambitious at the same time. He says:

“But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that” (1 Timothy 1:6-8 NIV). 

And, “. . . one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 3:13b-14 NIV).

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Peter A. Black lives in Southwestern Ontario. He writes a weekly inspirational newspaper column, P-Pep! and is author of Raise Your Gaze ... Mindful Musings of a Grateful Heart, and Parables from the Pond.
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You're not 'too old'! - Nesdoly

"Thunderstorm" painting by Grandma Moses (1948 - at 88 years).

• My friend Mel started running triathlons shortly before his 60th birthday.

• My cousin Len began studying Punjabi at 77 so he could talk to his neighbours.

• Lucille Broderson wrote her first poem at 60 and had her first poem published, in Poetry Magazine, at  73. At 95 she's still feisty, writing and publishing her prize-winning poems. Here she is reading poetry in her home city of Minneapolis Minnesota

• At 95 Nola Hill Ochs is one of the the oldest people ever to graduate from college. She graduated from Fort Hays State University in Hays Kansas  in 2007 after a career as a student that spanned 33 years (she first enrolled in a correspondence course in 1930). A CBS interview of her shows her with her granddaughter, who graduated with her.

Nola Ochs: "There's a great satisfaction in finishing what you start."

• Grandma Moses (Anna Mary Robertson: September 1860 - December 1961) took up painting at 76, after her arthritis made it too painful to carry on stitching the embroidery pictures she loved to create. In 1938 art collector Louis Caldor discovered her work. An Encyclopedia of World Biography article about her talks about her meteoric rise to fame: Her first one-woman show was held in New York City in 1940 and immediately she became famous. Her second one-woman show, also in New York City, came two years later. By 1943 there was an overwhelming demand for her pictures, partially because her homespun, country scenes brought about wonderful feelings and memories for many people. (See more of her paintings here.)

"Quilting Bee" by Grandma Moses (1950 - at 90 years)

All that to say, whatever your age, don't give "I'm too old" as an excuse for not going after your dreams. 

First published on my personal blog promptings June 19, 2012;  one of a series of weekly Tuesday posts that explores aspects of aging.

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Need a break from the 21st century rat-race? Travel to a different time and place via Destiny's Hands, a new novel recently released by Word Alive Press.

Experience Egyptian slavery, the exodus, crossing the Red Sea. Meet Moses, Aaron, Miriam, Hur, and Bezalel.  Eat quail and manna. Drink water from rocks. Live the temptations and questions of wilderness wandering.

Find out what readers are saying and where to purchase HERE. 

Website: www.violetnesdoly.com

Still Riding That Shiny Red Bike - Harris

I sell my articles and books, but not my paintings or poems.

Those I stuff into boxes. Sometimes I lose them.

The poem I wrote about my red bike might be in a box under the stairs. Or maybe it was lost when I moved. I wrote it about twelve years ago. I haven't seen the text for years.

But I hear it from time to time. The lines still go through my head.

Lines like:
Riding on a shiny red bike too big for her
Hot sticky tar holds her feet to the ground.

And the ending:
She slips her feet of out dime store thongs. (Or, as the 'fashionistas' now insist we say, 'dime store flip-flops.')

The 'bike poem' is supposed to be about who I was when I was nine. But maybe it's about who I am now.

Last week, I convinced myself that I would be cooler running errands on my bike than writing in my office. But, by the time I locked my bike to the rack at the mall, my hair was wet and much curlier than when I left home. And my face? I wouldn't say it was red exactly, just a very deep shade of pink. My over heated look didn't bother me. I was triumphant as I walked past the sedentary, albeit cool looking, layabouts drinking their 'iced whatever's' on the patio. I was on a mission.

A reserved copy of The Canadian Writer's Market was waiting for me inside Chapter's.

Determined not to waste time, I ignored the temptation to treat myself to Starbucks' iced special of the week.

In less than five minutes, I was back outside, unlocking my bike and deciding which errand I
must tackle next. But neither my 'to do list' nor the eye squinting sunlight could stop me from spending another five minutes in the blazing heat looking at my Canadian Writers' Market before I rode out of the mall parking lot.

It wasn't just the marketing opportunities that engrossed me. It was the cover: RED, SHINY AND BIG. Like the first bike I ever chose for myself. When I was nine, I didn't care that I had to stand up to peddle my SHINY, RED, NEW bike. I would be the right size in a year or two. I knew I would grow. And I did.

I grew up to be a writer. And even though it might be more sensible for someone like me, who lives outside Canada's major metopolitan areas, to qive up thinking that her books and articles will ever impact our nation's major news outlets, publishers, or even the public, I keep writing.

I am a writer because I'd rather dream dreams that are too big for me than give them up. And with God's grace, I am learning to slip my feet out of my shoes when I get stuck in the hot tar.

I'm happy to ride on barefoot. I hope you are too.

Jane Harris

www.visionofcanada.com