Aging

Several years ago, I gave some serious contemplation as to how my parents were aging.  When my grandparents were in their 40s, that seemed old, but then, my perspective was that of a child, and society had a different aging standard in the 1960s.  Anyone over 35 was "old establishment."   From the time I was twelve, I was looking forward to 40.  By the time 40 came around for me, it was fantastic and didn't really seem so old, after all.  It was in the next couple of years as my parents were hitting 60, that age seemed to be the new aging standard.  Either one was a young 60 or an old 60, and my parents are one of each.

In my early 40s, 60 really wasn't much of an issue, and I've always been more like Daddy than mom. I guess I just figured I'd be a young 60, but the other night, I got a wake up call, in the mirror.  As I stood at the sink, washing my hands, in the mirror; my great grandma was looking back at me.  Seeing the image of Daddy's grandma startled me, immensely.  I remember Granny, but she was much older than I am now, when I was born.  I shook it off, as best I could, and headed to bed.  It hadn't occurred to me that Daddy might be the exception to his family rule, or that he'd simply aged better because of his very active and athletic lifestyle.  Then there is the fact that men do tend to age better than women . . . think Paul Newman, Cary Grant, Sam Elliot.  Those men could still be the "leading man" while their female counterparts of the early movie days were relegated to support roles.

Sleep was a bit restless that night, as I considered a bold fact.  I'm less than three years from 60.  Although genetics will be an obvious factor, I still have a choice as to how 60 is going to hit and fit!  Vanity is not the issue, my endurance and activity level is my concern.  I remember several years ago, crying to Abba about having given Mr. B the last of my "good looking years," to which my Heavenly Father responded, "No, those were over before you met him."  Touche'!  Except for that one bout of self-pity, since following Messiah, I've been much more concerned about the beauty of my spirit.  I do want to reflect the glory of my Heavenly Father in my countenance.  The recent revelation that my hair is no longer salt & pepper, as well as more than a few aches and pains with rain coming that same night, caused me to evaluate a few other things that night.

Last year, right before Yom Teruah, I'd planned to do some things differently.  How many of those "good intentions" had I implemented?  As I laid there in the dark, evaluating my checklist, the stretches and increased walking hadn't exactly come to fruition, but HalleluYah!  I did have peace in the acceptance and resolve of a few other things . . . The ministry outreach has expanded exponentially and I think I'm more prepared than when I first heard to do so.  So, now that Yom Teruah is approaching once again, I'm repenting for my failure to accomplish some of the intentions.  I'm careful in regard to vows, but I'm not so sure Abba draws that line in my semantics, so it's time to get serious!

I'm not at all upset about growing older.  I've been counting on experiencing "my youth renewed" as found in Psalm 103.  I have no intention or desire to look 30, but I often think of doing chores and milking goats 20 years from now.  I want that.  I want to be able to do that.  I want to walk the half mile lane picking blackberries when I'm pushing 80, if my numbered days reach that point.  I want to still have a garden.  There is no need for the redeemed remnant to deteriorate with age.  I want to wear out, not rust out!  I can't expect Abba to renew my youth if I don't make a point to remain active.  If I'm not a young 60, the chances of being an active 80 will be drastically diminished.

My hair color and features are what they are, but I do have a choice in my activity and energy level.  The truth is:  I'm not getting any younger, but there is an element of choice in how gracefully I age.