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A friend sent me a link today to that Real Age Test you see online — you know, the one Oprah recommends. I bit and took it. The results: My “real age” is 4 years younger than my actual years. I feel at least that much younger. But then I’ve never been this age before. How would I know how it’s supposed to feel? Besides, I don’t like those words “supposed to.”

The results page said I could improve my well-being if I exercise more and take a baby aspirin a day.

The exercise I know. I’ve become way too sluggish.  So tonight, at least, I did my core strength exercises and put in one of my ballroom aerobic DVDs to work up a sweat. The baby aspirin: I have some, and from time to time I take it for a few days. But it feels just a tad more invasive than I’m comfortable with.

I recently invested in a used copy of Barbara Gufferman‘s book, The Best of Everything after 50. Her point is to be your best, whatever age you are. I like that. I owe it to myself, to those I love, and to the world at large. It’s just good stewardship of what I’ve been given.

I’m also working through a book called The Intentional Woman: A Guide to Experiencing the Power of Your Story with Becky and Jo. One question in it is, “You are God’s masterpiece. What does that mean to you?” This is what I wrote: “To get a hint–I am a Vincent Van Gogh. I am a Bach fugue. I am a Frank Lloyd Wright. I am an Eames chair. I am Katherine Hepburn at her best. [not literally, you understand. I’m clear that there is only one Kate.] I am Paul Simon’s lyrics, a C.S. Lewis book. I am one gorgeous pink peony with red flecks in the center. I am crashing surf. Vibrant. Breathtaking. I move people. They look at my life and say, when they can get the words out, “What a God…!”

I’m going to leave it there and trust that you, reader, understand that answer with the humility I meant in it.

Masterpieces are timeless.

How do you respond to the idea of being God’s masterpiece?

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