Fainting Goats and Senior Citizens

I'm not sure if it's a blogoshere faux pas to repost an old blog but I'm going to do it anyway.  I wrote this two years ago and it captures what I was feeling today.  I am in the decision making process and couldn't find other words to describe how I feel....

So my sister wants a fainting goat. When scared, the muscles of these goats get stiff, causing them to stop dead in their tracks and fall over. It's actually quite amusing to watch and they provide for some quality entertainment. They fall over and lay belly up, paralyzed with fear. Sometimes they don't fall over and they just get stiff legs and then try to run away. Some, over time, even learn to lean against things so that they don't fall over.  

The other night I went along with my family to a dinner with my grandparents and a few members of my extended family. It's a yearly thing, I think, and I felt kinda awkward because the majority of them were in their 70's or 80's, with the exception of my family. Whenever I'm around older people like that I always get kinda sad. I mean, not all the time, just sometimes. I always begin to think about how life goes by in the blink of an eye and how I like being young and how I'm not looking forward to the days of fuzzy slippers, dentures and aches and pains. In reality, I guess being old wont be that bad, it's just that much closer to heaven. Maybe I get sad because I'm just scared that life will be over before I know it. That I'll be eighty and full of regrets, with the grave eagerly awaiting my presence.  But as I think about myself at that age, I always wonder what my stories will be. Did I live life to the fullest?  Did I learn to love and be loved?  Did I see justice spring root, or redemption come near?

As I sat there silently listening to these older folks reciting memories from their journeys, I began to think about those goats. About how fear paralyzes them and keeps them from moving. A lot of my life, as I look back on it, has been lived in fear. Fear of risk, of failure, and even of success. And I concluded right then and there that I did not want to live life belly up and feet in the air. Or even run through it stiff legged. I do not want fear to dictate the paths that I take. Nor do I want to let life pass me by and not have any stories to tell.  When I'm eighty and sitting around a table with friends and family, pulling memories from old shelves in my mind, I want to be able tell stories of adventure, hope, and transformation.  Of redemption and justice.  Not stories of a life lived in fear.

 

What will your story be?