Last week I turned 65. Apparently I’m eligible for “old age security”. I get discounts at restaurants and stores and museums and even on some airlines. Children think 65 is pretty ancient. Forty year olds are checking out senior’s homes for their parents (not saying my children are doing that!) +55 communities are springing up all over the country…..2 bedroom bungalows…..no basement…..toilets that are high off the ground because old people can’t squat….cards on Monday and Wednesdays…..sewing circle on Tuesday and Thursdays…..crokinole on Friday nights…….hair appointment on Saturday morning!

NOT YET!

All of this got me thinking about my life - where I’ve been and where I’m going. Allow me to ramble.

The first 30! (1958-1990) - (and a bit) of my life were wonderful.

I was born into an incredible family - a close family - 9 siblings - 2 amazing parents that ran a pretty tight ship. My childhood was idyllic, really. I had siblings to play with - street hockey, sand lot baseball, touch football in someone’s backyard. We attended church as a family and our faith was very important to us. I sang in the church choir - first the children’s choir and then the adult one. I played sports all through junior high school and high school. I played in the band. I participated in musicals. I worked at a summer camp near Beaverton, called Fair Havens.

I met my husband, Randy, during my grade 13 year. We attended Tyndale Bible College together and got married between our 3rd and 4th years. We began our pastoral ministry in the local church in 1980 and had three babies, 1982, 1983, 1984. Life was amazing in those dizzying years of toddlers and ministry. It was all I could have hoped for.

The second 30! (1990 - 2023) - (and a bit) were equally wonderful but also heartbreaking.

We spent idyllic weeks at my parent’s cottage from 1984 -1999 in Westport, Ontario. Hot summer days were spent jumping off the rocks, swimming across the lake, canoeing around the lake to spy on turtles sunning themselves on logs, frogging and fishing, hitting golf balls across the lake and then diving for them, hamburgers on Saturday night and chicken on Sunday night, monopoly on rainy days and Gramma’s jam jams, fresh out of the oven. Winter vacations saw us playing hockey on the lake, skating for miles, sledding and hot chocolate.

In 1994, my brother Tim, died. He was 39. Tim and I grew up together. Of all my siblings, we were closest in age. Tim was on a canoeing trip with his eldest son, and tragically their canoe tipped over and as Tim was guiding it through some rapids and rocks, it collapsed around him and pinned him under the water. (They were wearing life jackets!) Our family was shattered by the news of his death. He was young. He was loved. He had a wife and 2 young teenagers. His faith was strong and he is in heaven.

During those years our boys were busy in school with academics and sports and youth group and summers at camp. Elementary school zipped by, high school flew by, as did University. All of a sudden the boys brought that special girl home to meet us who would become their wives, our daughters-in-laws. Weddings took place in 2007, 2008, and 2009. How proud we were of our sons on their wedding days. How excited we were to welcome three lovely girls into our family.

The first Christmas we were empty nesters, the boys planned a special present for me. Early on Christmas Eve morning, Ben and (fiancé) Jen and Pete borrowed my car to do some last minute Christmas shopping. I was busy prepping for our annual Christmas Eve service and drop-in at our house after the service. Jen came into the kitchen and said that the boys said the car was making a strange noise and I should check it out. I was imagining taking the car to be fixed on Christmas Eve afternoon. As I wiped my hands on my apron, I hurried out the front door. Pete opened the door of the car and running towards me was the most perfect ball of yellow fluff - a golden retriever puppy….my Maggie girl. It was love at first sight. How I loved that girl.

My dad was 91 when he went Home to be with the Lord in February of 2007. My parents were married almost 69 years.

Our ministry in the local church during those years was tougher. After our delightful years in Orillia, we had some deep disappointments. We were part of some sobering, lonely, heartbreaking events that almost rocked our world. Leadership in any vocation has its ups and downs and local church ministry is no different. Through this time though, Randy and I stayed true to each other and true to our faith and true to our calling.

Towards the end of the second 30 - the grandchildren came - our greatest joy and delight. Three grandchildren were born in 2011. 2012 and 2013 brought two more grandsons. Imagine, 5 grandchildren! We were so blessed. Our backyard had a play centre and swings and a sandbox. It was fenced in so the kids and the dogs could play without running away. Those were good years.

Heartbreak would come to our family once again in June of 2014. Randy and I were both runners and had run a half marathon in April. We trained together, we ate together, we laughed together, we served together. We were pretty much together all of the time. On Saturday morning, June 28th, Randy was out for a run with a friend and he collapsed, never regaining consciousness. Seven days later, Randy, my husband of 35 years, amazing dad to 3 sons, father-in-law to 3 lovely ladies, a Grampie to 5, a pastor for almost 35 years, went Home to be with his Saviour. His faith was made sight.

I learned to live alone. Well not really alone. I had wonderful friends and family who supported me. I had boarders who lived with me. I had three more grandchildren born in 2015.

I met Harv in late 2015 and we were married the next year. Harv was a widower - alone like me - and we were introduced by friends. Our courtship was pretty short. We both knew the joys of a long first marriage and the loneliness of being alone. How grateful I am for our life together - church and golfing and travelling and pickle ball and family. We are a blessing to each other. We are grateful for second chances.

Two more grandchildren born in 2017 and 2018 and that makes 10 Jolliffe grandchildren.

We all know what happened in 2020…….Covid. Late in the fall of 2020 we brought my mom to Kincardine to live with us. Mom was a fragile centenarian - that’s right - 100 years old. She was experiencing some dementia and that made life interesting. Mom was with us for three months before she passed away in our home to her heavenly Home.

2023!

I’m thinking it’s the last third of my life unless I live to be the age of Methuselah and I don’t think that’s going to happen. I have plans. Are you surprised? I hope not.

I read John Piper’s book a number of years ago - it’s called Don’t Waste Your Life!”

For me - today - it’s - DON’T WASTE THE LAST THIRD!

What does that look like for me? I’ve got plans. I’ve got goals. I want to travel. I want to learn another language. I want to become a 4.0 in pickle ball. I want to cheer loudly at my grandchildren’s hockey games and basketball games and road races and ski races and rock climbing events and music recitals and whatever else they do. I want to dance at the weddings of my grandchildren. I want to see my children grow older and become grandparents themselves. I want to grow old with Harv.

I want those things but I want these more.

I want to love those who don’t love me back. I want to bless those who aren’t very nice. I want to do better at rejoicing with those who are happy and weeping with those who are sad. I want to live in harmony with my neighbours and friends and relatives. I don’t want to repay evil with more evil. I don’t want to wish revenge on anyone. I don’t want to be haughty and rude. I want to always be hopeful - always patient - persistent in prayer. I want to have people in my house for dinner and coffee and fellowship - for them to stay as long as they need to.

My brother, Ted, said to me last week that when he turned 65 - he was done with being angry. It wasn’t worth it to get angry at people, circumstances, events etc. I’ll heed his advice.

Love is patient and kind. Love does not envy or boast. Love is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way, it is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice at wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. I want to love better.

So there you go. My ramblings on reaching the age of 65!