We don’t need more drama in our lives. News of more people diagnosing positive with COVID as we stay pretty well secluded is getting old. So, to humor our spirits, I’m introducing you to STAINED GLASS HEARTS, by best-selling author, Patsy Clairmont. The following excerpts from that book are like experiencing warm, happy rays of sunshine dancing on cold, dreary days. (With minimal paraphrasing) Here goes...

The older I get, the madder my hair is at me. My hair was once thick, curly, and sanguine, similar to a Chia Pet. Now my hair is a thin scramble of melancholy cowlicks. Don’t you hate the term “cowlicks” for something that sits atop your head? Sounds like a herd of bovine has been slobbering on me. As much as I appreciate nature, I’m definitely opposed to slobber.

I once had such a wad of frizz atop my head that it must have covered all the sticky-outie parts, but now my hair is a thin clump of slathered tumbleweed...

I really don’t mind my age, but I do find the “draperies” (of my body) troubling. It’s not easy to gather up all that loose material and harness things in place daily. It’s wearisome, but someone has to do it, if for no other reason than to protect the environment.

And, that’s not all...I could have a garage sale for chins. Where did they all come from? Relatives? Gee, thanks. I would rather they left their sterling. Really, I wish they had retrieved a few of these, uh, baggies. They get in the way. I tried wrapping them in scarves, but then I looked like an ancient tortoise trying to get her head out of a shell. Besides, it’s embarrassing when a couple of chins suddenly pop out like a Jill-in-the-box or some such thing. I considered a chin strap, but then I realized if I started to strap up everything that’s sagging, I’d end up looking like a ball of twine.

I know there are benefits to aging, but they keep slipping my mind. Speaking of which, once my brain had tidy card files like a Dewey decimal system at the library; now it’s more like a lottery. No one knows what might come out or if it will be fully clothed and in its right mind.

I understand why folks steam-dry their wrinkles and take tucks to hike things up hither and yon, but I sure appreciate the au natural woman who gives me permission to live with myself and then demonstrate how it’s done. I don’t recall my grandmother whining about her age; in fact, she wore it like a trophy, always proud to tell her age—until...she was finally recognized as the oldest member of the church.

My friends from Women of Faith Conferences, Luci Swindoll and Marilyn Meberg put verve and nerve into aging. They give it a fresh slant. Their stainedglass windows are highlighted with glitter. Full of fun and optimism, they make the years dance. While they are seniors, I feel as if Junior (that would be me) is catching up to their candle count. They are active world travelers, eager learners, gifted conversationists, art connoisseurs, and wacky women from the get-go.

Luci and Marilyn inspired me to try new adventures... like cooking school. I went to a 4-hour class to learn to cook fish. And, I attended with witnesses—family and friends. Nervy.

We learned to salt-bake a fish with the head and tail still on, prepare potato-crusted striped bass, and prosciutto-wrapped grouper, and grilled ahi on rosemary skewers...and we ate it all. I felt very international!

You might be saying, “C’mon, Patsy, you can take a bigger risk than cooking.” But then you’ve never eaten my cooking. But you’re right; I have taken riskier moves. Recently, I came across a snapshot that I took of a family of elephants while I was dangling over the side of a hot air balloon in Tanzania. How risky is that for a 70+ year-old lady?

If anyone had told me I’d go to Africa or ride a hot air balloon, I’d say no way. Africa wasn’t on my Bucket List. But now, Africa is right on top of my bragging list. Beware, though. You can lose your heart to that mysterious land and its people. Like sentinels, the acacias stand in a sea of endless land that runs up distant hills into dusty clouds. Herds of migrating zebras, as far as the eye can see, stripe the dry land as they make their way to water. Lone hyenas with bony shoulder blades heckle and sulk a distance away. Giraffes sway and reach the treetops’ most tender leaves. And, then there are the lions...hello.

Oh, Africa, how could I have known you would stay like a cherished song? It’s as if I had only known ballads, and then somebody introduced jazz: a thrilling, heart-moving world of sights and sounds swaying with the pulse of its people. The sunsets explode across the horizon, encircling this wild, winsome land in stained-glass wonder.

I may never return to Africa, but I will always hold the memories. I can close my eyes and feel the sun’s warmth, hear the children’s laughter, see the women’s kind faces, and hear animals’ calls at night.

One thing I’ve learned after circling the block of life is that you need a sense of humor to survive aging—actually to survive life. Otherwise, a case of ornery can seize you, and you’ll break out in a cranky. And that’s not cute on anyone.

So, as I get older, I notice I seek shelter of silence more and more. The quiet gives me opportunity to sort myself out in God’s presence. The stillness allows space for confession and petitions. I open the stainedglass window of my soul. My heart finds centeredness in God’s grace.

Patsy, now 75, was one of the funniest, most memorable Women of Faith national conference speakers. Her passion still is to help others to overcome obstacles in troubling times. My son, Clay, worked for the conferences for years, and now his work includes Patsy in the successful Porch Pals Book Club. Her YouTube videos are a hoot, and her books encourage us with hope, healing, and peace for 2021.