I looked in the mirror today and saw distinct wrinkles – right between my eyes and around my smile.

(My first thought, I admit, was – “I wonder if I should start using wrinkle cream.”)

Can it be that I only have half a year left to thirty? I swear I’m still eighteen – or at least it feels that way.

Growing older is funny, isn’t it?

It’s wonderful in most ways – I wouldn’t go back to THEN if you paid me a million dollars.

I like being older, wiser. I like being married, having children, having a home of my own. It’s good to be a grown-up.

I’m kind of scared too, aware that death creeps up like a bandit in the night – catching us unaware.

I am also keenly aware of the fact that the elderly are not treasured in our society. They are swept away, deemed as “used goods.” (Oh, how that makes my heart ache – it shouldn’t be that way, you know).

I want to still be dancing at age 80, laughing at age 90, serving at 100. I want to be the woman with the sparkling eyes – who can still crack a joke and knows how to listen (without judging). I want to be the woman who prays and encourages and smiles, the one who isn’t bothered by crying babies or kids who run too fast or laugh too loud.

I want to be the old woman who never retires from living, who still keeps up with the latest technologies, and who is brave enough to still ask questions. I want to be pliable. When someone asks me my age, I want to say it clearly – proud of the years lived and expectant of the years still left to live.

How do you feel about aging? How old are you anyway? Do you use wrinkle cream? (What – I HAD to ask).

* All photos are straight out-of-the-camera, 100% unedited.