Filling the Ages Together

Last year my nearly 23-year-old long jump record I set in 2000 at my high school, fell. I remember the day I set the record for the first time. It was at Hesston High School, and (as it would stand to reason) one of the few meets my parents ever missed. I remember telling my coach and getting the old distance from the record board. It was so exciting! After that meet, I continued to break my own record multiple times before settling into the final mark of 17’11.75” at the state track meet my junior year. (If you wonder if that quarter-inch haunted me, the answer is YES). A season-ending injury my senior year left me first with crutches and spectacular bruising, then a walking cast, and eventually a foot that would never operate in quite the same way again — first and foremost, without pain. I tried competing in college, but I never again achieved the same marks. At that point, I was content to listen to my body and move on to other endeavors.

But even as I did, my high school long jump record held. And held. And held some more. Until finally I just wanted it to hang on for 20 years, for really no reason except to see if it would. And it did…but I always knew someone would eventually come along, just as I had, and get her name on the board in place of mine. And she would be excited. And maybe she’ll also watch it hold for a stretch of time. But eventually, another name will again come along and step into the line of record-holders who leapt before her.

And isn’t that how life works in so many ways?

A couple years ago, as extended family gathered to celebrate one of my kids’ birthdays, I had this lightbulb moment where I looked at my husband’s grandma — the only one of our grandparents we have left — and thought, “She’s done all this before.” I realize this isn’t a new thought by any stretch. The passing of time is part of being human. People live it, and Scripture doesn’t mince words when it reminds us that life is fleeting. But that birthday party pulled back the curtain with personalized gusto: Grandma Marge went through her childhood, teens, 20s, and so on…just like I’m doing. When I was born in 1983, my grandparents were the ones transitioning to having adult kids and new grandkids. In 2008 as I welcomed my firstborn, it was my parents who became grandparents, my grandparents became greats, and I became Mom. And now, in 2024, it’s me with children getting so close to college I can feel the certainty of change breathing down my neck. Roles fill and re-fill in a blink.

When I began writing my newspaper column, for instance, I was pregnant with my oldest. In those days, I often wrote about pregnancy. Then I wrote about life with toddlers, and so on. Now, those experiences are being filled by women younger than me and I’m filling a place that felt like such a distant future not that long ago. Looking back, it occurs to me that at the same time I wrote about my struggle with sending my baby to Kindergarten, there were moms also sending their kids — their babies — to college. In a few (very) short years, I will occupy that stage of life while others will send newly-minted 5-year-olds to grade school. And then eventually, if the Lord wills it, I will occupy what now feels like the distant (and very distant) future. I’ll be in the line for Grandma and even Great-Grandma as more girls grow up and move along in generations of women…filling the ages…together.