Even to your old age and gray hairs
I am he, I am he who will sustain you.
I have made you and I will carry you;
I will sustain you and I will rescue you.
-Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)
My 85-year-old mother sat
across from me in her rocker. At 45, I felt a tug I couldn’t quite identify,
pulling me faster down some imaginary aisle headed who knew where. Like my
grade school friend pulling me out the school door at recess and onto the
playground. For what? Some bully to tease and torment me? Or for an accident
waiting to happen?
A similar foreboding reached
out with icy fingers and clutched me at the thought of aging. I desperately
longed for my mother, older and wiser, to shine a light on the journey that lay
ahead.
“What’s it like, Mama?” I
leaned forward on the sofa, legs casually crossed Indian style. I prided myself
that I could still position myself that way without my hip locking up or pain
shooting down my leg.
Her scalp tightened, ever so
slightly, momentarily reordering her cottony, white hair. A dreamy expression
filled her eyes, and she looked past me. Then her gaze settled on my face. “To
be honest,” she patted her chest, “inside, I still feel like I’m 15. I still
have hopes and dreams.” A smile inflated her wrinkled cheeks. Her eyebrows
knit like mountain peaks. “Some days I’d like to bolt out down the street as
fast as I can, but my body won’t let me.”
How sad.
Selfishly, I wondered
if I’d experience the same phenomenon. On the one hand, Mama provided a glimpse
into a woman whose spirit hadn’t been squelched by time. On the other, she
provided a reality that comes to each of us.
Growing older eventually, most
likely, will involve bodies that wear out and eyes that grow dim.
The nugget of hope Mama left
me that day didn’t lie in the tangible, physical realm.
No, it bubbled up from deep
within, from a spirit alive with youth, vigor. The challenge—finding expression
for a young person trapped in an old body.
While Mama couldn’t zip down
the road in Keds, she could zip through the grocery store. So much so, I had
trouble keeping up with her. One minute she’d be in the freezer section and the
next out of sight. Totally gone. I’d find her perusing the canned goods,
checking labels. Just as I sprinted up to her, she’d whizz away, rounding the
corner to another aisle. Maybe her grocery store marathon was her way of
dealing with her inner teenager who longed to break free and run. I don’t know.
All I know is Mama could move.
At 4 ft. 8 in. (she claimed
she was shrinking), she put the energizer bunny to shame. A Lilliputian looking
through rheumy eyes, she refused to call it quits on youth. You might say she
was a realistic optimist. She knew her body was old, but she refused to “get
old.”
Two things served her well:
Prayer and humor. While Mama could worry with the best of ‘em, she never gave
into the enemy’s hold for long. A trip past her bedroom door revealed a lady on
her knees, taking her concerns to the throne of grace. And yes, still on her
knees at 85.
She’d rise with a twinkle in
her eyes as if she and God shared a secret, then got busy cooking, ironing, or
mending, a hum on her lips.
She knew God was with her and
had a plan for her. With the apostle Paul, she refused to lose heart, for though
her outer body was decaying, her inner self was being renewed day by day (2
Corinthians 4:16).
Now that I’m 66, I lean in
ever more to my Mama’s words and ways she modeled, especially in my graying
years.
In doing so, I can emerge with a smile on my face and joy in my heart, all the way Home.
~~
(Stay tuned for a future post on how Mama modeled humor).
In the meantime, check out this book from Karen O'Connor, trusted mentor and author friend who's compiled several humorous books for seniors.
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