Aged to Perfection

Yesterday I got eleven circulars in the mail and a realtor's card in my screen door. Less thean three hundred years ago, the cost of a single sheet of paper was beyond the reach of all but the ultra-wealthy. Now, we eat on paper and throw it out.

Madison Avenue is trying to build a bigger, better mousetrap. Even if they don't, redesigning it so we have a new model each year is important. We've been conditioned to believe new = better. That whole notion fuels a keep-up-with-the-neighbors consumerism.

Admittedly, I'm a bargain queen. All those commercials, signs, magazine ads, billboards, and coupons make me suspicious. Clutching my purse, I stare at claims of "New," "Improved," "Concentrated" and "scientifically advanced" with suspicion. Three times in three years, my laundry detergent has boasted changes. When are they going to get it right?

 So many things are better when they've stuck around awhile.

Blue jeans grow soft and fit better.

Out-of-the-box shoes rub blisters; break then in, and you're able to survive a whole day without your dogs barking.

Quilts gain histories of whispered secrets, family stories, and mopped up tears.

Sheets and towels grow softer.


Everyday recipes become the next generation's comfort foods.

Watches, clocks, and jewelry become family treasures.

Favorite books become old friends.

Cute, sock-stealin' puppies become loyal companions.

Acquaintences become friends.

Stiff-spined, crisp-paged Bibles become thumbed and tattered sources of guidance, wisdom, and comfort.

Lots of people say cheese and wine improve with age; I get migraines, so I avoid them. But I'm headachy from all these ridiculous claims on billboards, ads in magazines, and commercials on TV all saying that what we have isn't good enough. According to them, we can be deleriously happy if we buy their floor dusters. I have yet to dance once my hands curl around a mop handle, and anyone who does needs to get a life or a psychiatrist.



I'm content to wear my battered jeans, brew good old Lipton tea in an plain white teapot, and delve deeper into the Scriptures that were written centuries ago.

The Great I Am who was, is, and will always be has proven worthy of my praise and worship.
Until He calls me home, I want to age in the image of His perfection.

I might change my laundry detergent, though. Maybe its scent is why the ornery puppies keep swiping my socks!
Cathy