False Solomon’s Seal, Solomon’s Seal, Bittersweet Nightshade, Elderberry
I have carried you since you were born; I have taken care of you from your birth. Even when you are old, I will be the same. Even when your hair has turned gray, I will take care of you. I made you and will take care of you. I will carry you and save you. [Isaiah 46:3b-4 (NCV)]
Last night, at my mother-in-law’s retirement home, I was nearly run over by a parade of residents in wheelchairs along with several more ambulatory seniors shuffling along on their walkers as they moved toward the patio to enjoy the last rays of the day’s sun. Last night, I caught a glimpse of tomorrow and I’m not anxious to go there. It’s not the white hair and wrinkles—it’s not even the stooped posture and frailty—it’s the lack of independence that frightens me the most.
I’m at a point in life where, when I look at my children, I see what I was like yesterday—or what feels like just yesterday. Then, when I look at my mother-in-law, I see what life will be like tomorrow or the day after. At my age, time passes way too quickly. It seems only a few years ago that we had teenagers and now our teenagers have teens of their own. Wasn’t it just last month when I held the first grand in my arms? I turned around for just a second and now she has her driver’s permit. I’m sure it was yesterday when I stood on the bus so a senior could have my seat—now people offer their seats to me!
As I walk through the park, I’m reminded of the season. Instead of the gaudy colors of summer, I see the yellows, oranges and browns that come with autumn. The asters are just bits of fluff and the black-eyed Susans look naked without their golden petals. Yet, I see another kind of beauty—the beauty that comes with the changing season. In fact, the maples and oaks are more spectacular with their brightly colored leaves. Moreover, it is only when the flowers have faded that they start bearing their beautiful fruit. Old age, like the autumn prairie and woodlands, can be beautiful when accepted gracefully.
Our years are a gift from God. Having outlived all but one of my family members, these years are a gift I appreciate. Yet, I confess to apprehension when I walk into a room and can’t remember why I’m there, forget someone’s name, can’t open a jar, or need ibuprofen for my aching joints. I’m not so sure I’m going to enjoy everything about this next season of life. I don’t relish the thought of eventually giving up my driver’s license, being unable to handle my finances, using a cane or walker, or possibly needing a caregiver. I would much prefer to have the health and vitality of middle age to the frailty of the elderly and so I exercise and watch my diet. Nevertheless, no matter what I do, the years will eventually take their toll on my mind and body.
I’m sure God didn’t ask the flowers how they felt about getting old, withering and eventually dying, and I don’t think He’s going to ask me. I have no choice but to accept this season of life and joyfully prepare to move on to the next. Like the flowers and the people I saw last night, I will turn to face the sun and make the most of the days with which I have been blessed. And, like them, I will gracefully accept the passage of time and bear as much fruit as possible. While I may change and fade with the years, I know that God never will. As old as He is, He’ll never be infirm, He’ll never be too weak to hold me upright and He’ll never become so absent-minded that He forgets my name.
Devotions of the Heart 