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"It felt like going on a journey without fully realising how long it would be, how far away it would lead me, or where I would finally end up." ~Henri Nouwen

Sometimes lately I find myself pausing during the normal course of the day, and reflecting upon the odd twists and turns of life that have landed me in the middle of a desert wilderness with my husband and eight children. It seems as if the day before yesterday I was a college student talking with friends over coffee, making plans for the next holiday, then I was living a vagabond life among musicians, and wasn't it only yesterday that I'd left so much of my younger self behind to become a wife and mother? Today I glance in the mirror and realize that my hair is shot through with gray, my children are growing very quickly, and I’ll soon be embracing my second grandchild! It's true that the days grow shorter and fly faster with each passing year.

Dreams of my youth, briefly tasted, still precious, come to mind more frequently now. They have taken on a wonderful patina with age and linger at the edge of my vision inviting and ready to be unfolded by an older me, now with more time on my hands and unfettered from the ambitions of youth. I think about finishing those long-abandoned sailing lessons with my husband or maybe scuba diving off Catalina Island one more time, or just lazing in the sun at the beach, walking along the coastline, watching for herons. I wonder if we might move somewhere wetter, with more shades of green, eventually. I find myself daydreaming about opening a bookshop or one that sells vintage stringed instruments...or both. Pictures that I want to capture in shimmering watercolor or stark pen and ink flit across my mind's eye. I try to visualize my older self as a college re-entry student, taking up a course of study that I only toyed with as a younger woman.

Daydreams of youth and mid-life aside, there are powerful realities which were barely dreamt of in my youth that have overtaken my life and shaped who I am, some thankfully for the better. One of those realities is that I've become the mother of a very large family. The reality of being a mother and wife has altered me in ways that I could never have effected on my own. Things have changed inside of me -- things having to do with love and trust, forgiving and being forgiven, fear experienced and fear overcome, pain and love, my own understanding of responsibility, my own weakness and the miracle of strength that can be lent to me in love from others. I've learned that I am both stronger and weaker than I thought, I've learned things about faith and unanticipated grace along with providence from unexpected places, and I've learned something about really opening my heart to the Creator, the creation, and other people. However I've grown in my 48 years, so very much of the growth I owe to my own family.

Watching children reach adulthood and becoming a grandmother have both underscored a mid-life feeling of freedom. There really are seasons, beginnings and endings, after all. My kids will grow up, in fact *are* growing up, and I want to give some thought to what comes next. While I'm still living out the reality of being the "caretaker" of a large family, I'm also envisioning what the coming days may hold, God willing. This is the breathing room I was assured would come with a family that's growing older and while it comes with more constraints in a homeschooling family, or a very large family, or a family with special challenges, still -- it's given me the opportunity finally to begin to determine what my dreams *are* for the rest of my life even as I continue to help my kids move along the road to theirs... Finally, I am beginning to see a clearing in the forest, a little light through the trees, and it's become real to me that while being a mother has been the best and the richest thing in my life, that there may be some space and a bit of time still to dust off an abandoned dream or two.

How do we rediscover our dreams? We practice doing things that make our hearts sing. We do it now and not put it off. We negotiate time to write, even one poem or story; we buy a new set of watercolors or pencils and find a way to paint or draw just one piece. We sit down at the piano and actually play or we find a way to take those coveted guitar lessons. We let our family know that we're going to take a class at the community college, or a karate or yoga lesson, or join a women's writing group -- and we find creative ways to fit it in. We don't need to try to tackle every dream at once, and we don't have to clear all of them off of the backburner simultaneously. One thing that fills us with joy to start with is adequate. Even a small amount of time apart is restorative when we're hardpressed and overwhelmed; the Bible gives us accounts of both Jesus and Elijah being revived through time away from the press of the crowd and their own callings. Remember, creativity feeds more creativity.

I still have a whole handful of younger children and they are all homeschooled so my own way has been having my husband hold down the fort for the day every so often. He goes out with the younger children, I stay home to draw or write or read; or he stays at home and I go out and do what I want. I go walk in the high country or by the beach or to the library, out for coffee with a friend or one of the older children, or to a bookstore -- anything that promises to feed my soul. This would have been a wise practice as a younger mom, as a middle-aged mom it's become absolutely essential to me. I've learned over the past several years that if I "practice my dreams" faithfully in increments of available time, I'm a happier person and the dreams not only stay alive, but they foster even more courage and desire to be a creative woman.

Women Together in All Stages of Life

Gentle Spirit's Women Together issue has caused me to think about the way other cultures have treasured every stage of a woman's life and have aided women through all their passages. I think many of us have gone through a time of dismay and even mourning that this kind of community among women may not be available right at hand for us. In the process of mourning the loss of something we've never exactly known but we've known would be nourishing if it were present -- we've sought out our own precious communities of women. Some of us have found the support of other women among fellow homeschoolers, some in writers' groups, some in quilting or other handicraft groups, some of us have been fortunate enough to find a supportive collection of women at our places of worship, and a few of us have been blessed with wonderful extended families, rich with marvelous women of all ages. Some of us have discovered to our surprise and amazement a circle of love in the reputedly cold, ephemeral, impersonal world of the Internet. Friendships forged out of pixels have become dear flesh and blood bonds over time as we meet together for the first, second, and more times. Still, haven’t we all managed over our lifetimes to put together a lovely patchwork of women we can count on from all kinds of places? Women are truly resourceful. :-)

At my own mid-life point I've begun to give thought to the marginalization of aging women and the way that our society tends to disenfranchise us as the signs of age accumulate on face and body. I look around me for women who have walked this way before me for some direction. What does an intelligent, independent-thinking older woman look like? How does a woman like this express her spiritual mindedness, both in solitude and among others? How does someone age and still continue to affirm life? How can maturity be celebrated in ways that are life-enhancing? As in my younger years I had to seek out friends and mentors where I could find them and sometimes I found them in unexpected places -- I continue to look for older women who walk in grace and compassion, whose lives are rich and full of wisdom regardless of status or circumstance. These surely are more precious than rubies.

As visually oriented as I am, I've found my eye drawn to the stylized carved female figurines that archaeologists have been discovering around the globe. These statues of women which date from tens of thousands of years B.C. such as the so-called "Venus of Willendorf" have given me a vision of all the women who have crossed the threshold of childbearing and beyond for aeons. These small statues appeal to me in the naturalness of their femininity. They are unconstrained by current conventional ideals of womanhood (they're no supermodels, that's for sure!) and they seem to whisper to me that in the past there have been societies who have elevated nurturing and creative values; they give me hope that we can attain these values right now. The Willendorf figurine is small enough to hold in one's hand and archaeologists don't know if she was an object of worship, a doll, a sort of hearthside statuette (primitive home decor?) but she was surely an unpretentious and homespun figurine and her existence is a solace to me because she speaks of a paradigm of nurturance and womanly abundance having nothing to do with Barbie nor the latest beautiful sensation from Hollywood...She is biologically feminine in a way that any woman who has borne and nourished a child out of her own body can relate to, in a way that anyone who has loved such a woman as mother, sister, friend can understand and appreciate. It's easy to step away from our culture-bound prejudices about femininity and beauty in her presence.

Now, at mid-life, I've begun to encounter the stillness and quietude that was hard to come by as a younger mother. In the stillness I've been able to ask questions and try to make sense of bewildering things, or at least to develop inner peace about things that may never make sense in this life. There were times as a younger mother that I felt I'd never have the space to be able to string two thoughts together. Sometimes I still have those times. But having had a taste of stillness, I seek it more actively now.

Now, I've begun to ask myself: as women who are growing older, is there a place for us to teach, to create works of art that bless our own selves and others, to express the compassion that comes from long life? If there isn't, will we have the strength and commitment to create communities that will be enriched by what we have to offer? I refuse to bind to myself the cultural phobias about aging and I want to find ways to approach the next stage of life in full humor and grace. I'm seeking guides who have passed this way in inner beauty, humor, and wisdom. I'm doing what I can to build a community of like-minded women around me as I go. I know that we can make a difference in the culture this way. It may not be a huge, widespread change but I know that it will happen, just as those of us who decided to raise our children differently 20 and 30 years ago have made a difference. We decided that we wanted to birth them gently, nurse them until they were ready to stop, permit them to grow up beside us in the heart of the home, teach them in freedom, noncoercively. None of these things were necessarily easy to do. We were told that our alternative birthing methods might take their lives, our alternative feeding methods would rob them of their independence, our alternative educational philosophies would take away their opportunities for any success in life, and now sometimes we hear that our alternative ways of relating noncoercively to our children will steal away their souls. Some of us have lived long enough to see that these fearful admonitions were just that -- fearfulness -- none of these things have come to pass. Some of these things which we've endeavored for, in fact, have impacted society outside of our immediate circles in a good way. I feel with certainty that seeking a positive and celebratory vision of maturity will bear wonderful fruit and will profoundly bless many. Certainly these things will help not only us but our sons and daughters who have their eyes upon us and who may draw from our examples a nourishing way of life for their own journey into the far reaches of adulthood. I can hardly wait.

Copyright 2000 Katherine Ward