Life Begins at 38!

The past few years, people comment on my life, often asking my secret for joyful living. I call it joy-filled living. Before age 38, no one asked me that question. Not that I can recall anyway. I used to explain that I am a "recovering pessimist." But it's not really that simple.

When I was 38 (oh how I wish I had been younger), I forgave my parents. My whole life, I held grudges against them for perceived injustices. Every single hurt magnified, clutched to my heart. They weren't perfect, that's for sure. And I made sure they knew it.

I quietly rebelled. My parents can tell stories of me running away -- the first time when I was six, determined to go to Grandma's. One time, I planned a coup -- taking my two younger brothers and hiding out for hours -- plotting how to get our way. My dad patiently waited and then called us to lunch. The boys toppled instantly. I followed grudgingly behind. When I was older, I didn't run away, but I did the "teen thing," hiding in my room, whispering complaints on the phone to my friends.

Seriously, my parents made mistakes. Sometimes I got in trouble for things my brothers had done. They yelled and screamed in anger. Sometimes, I got spanked. Before I was a mom (a long time ago), I went to counseling to get past it all. The first -- and only -- visit, I aired my litany of grievances gathered over a couple of decades. The counselor told me I was abused. She assigned homework, "Go home this week and look in the mirror. Tell yourself it's okay to hurt." She was serious. Driving home, I bawled. In my heart, I knew I was not abused. I was -- and am -- loved. All those hurts piled up were simply my parents' best attempts to raise their three kids. I never went back to counseling with her. Or anyone. Instead, I pushed my hurts down and continued living with a mask of darkness over my heart, knowing I wasn't abused, but unwilling to forgive.

I became a mother. Twice. I moved from Ohio to North Carolina and endured my very darkest days. Finally, I understood. Our pastor preaches all the time about hope and forgiveness. He reminds us that we all make mistakes, which is why we need Jesus. He encourages us to forgive others and let go of those hurts. Eventually, enough of those messages seeped into me to change my life completely.

I forgave. Every hurt and grudge I had held, I finally laid at Jesus' feet. I gave Him the heavy burden on my heart. I asked Him to help me let go. More than that, I asked Him to show me life from my parents' perspective. He did!

I was a stubborn and strong-willed child (still am). My parents gave me room to make choices that often caused them frustration and hurt. My mom tried to connect with me during high school, investing time and energy in my pursuits. I made her out to be lame and out of touch, keeping her at arms' length. Yes, Jesus showed me life from my parents' perspective. It hurt.

He showed me the fear and worry they endured in the 1970's. My dad, then an electrician with Goodyear, was frequently laid off due to the economy and the energy crisis. My mom was forced to go to work. My dad took second shift jobs. They never saw each other. Yet, we never lost our home, never went without food, and always had a parent there to tuck us in at night. My dad called every evening like clockwork, at 7:20, to wish us good-night and sweet dreams.

They had purchased property on Marco Island, Florida in the 1960's, to use for retirement. In the 1970's they sold it to keep us afloat. Their dreams and plans crushed. I never knew. Or at least, I never understood the depth of their disappointment as their plans evaporated. Instead, my mom would let us try to stay up till Dad got home from work on the weekends. She took us midnight bowling to watch him bowl in a late-night league. Such a grand adventure!

At age 38, I found joy, not because my life changed. I found joy because I let go of the things that weighed me down. I opened my heart to the truth and Satan lost his foothold in my heart.

Genesis 9:18-27 tells a story of Noah and his sons after the flood. Old Noah got a little drunk and acted a bit recklessly. His younger son, Ham, saw him and called his brothers Shem and Japheth to get a good look at dear old dad. Shem and Japheth, full of respect for their father, chose instead to honor him. They respected him in spite of his mistake. Ham's bad attitude toward his dad affected generations that followed.

Much like Ham, I disrespected my parents with my bad attitude. My joy today is the result of God working in my heart, helping me to forgive real wrongs and to ask forgiveness for wrong attitudes. Life for me began at 38. The year I let go.