I’m not dying from some long word disease. I’m aging. And I know all the hype. The rhetoric and propaganda of aging seems to be the only thing that lives forever. Wisdom. Health. Financial security. Grandchildren. There’s a long list of positives–and negatives. Well, I have checked off some of some of those (you read that right), but honestly, I’m not sure I have them in any greater portion than I ever had. Except the grandkids. I don’t have any yet. Maybe they’re what’s missing, but I suspect not.
I gave up on the whole aging thing, and I’ve been clinging to life with everything in me. Fighting for youthfulness. But my body hasn’t particularly agreed with this battle plan. My mind reminds me every morning that I’d like to be old enough to retire. And then there’s the mirror. Why do some women look so beautiful at any age? It’s not for a lack of wrinkles or white hair. And age spots decorate their skin too. But there’s something. Inner radiance, maybe? Could be. Inner joy. Peace. Love. Those are reasons I can believe.
At every age my days have started early. I like the quiet hours before the neighbor cranks his big truck or our young rooster out back belts his struggling crow. I like an early cup of coffee and an open bible. I’ve been studying Romans. I’m in chapter twelve, and right out beside verse nine, “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good.” (my NIV version) I read the note I scribbled at some point, “What are you clinging to until your knuckles turn white?”
Things I shouldn’t be so focused on. Like not aging.
Even now, I have essentials oils in the diffuser-lemon, black pepper, peppermint, frankincense, and cedar atlas. I woke thinking I’d try for a combination of focus, mental clarity, and spirituality. I’m new to essential oils, and I forget small things like to use lemon grass oil in place of lemon oil in my morning concoction. I put donut shop brand coffee in the cup with a teaspoon of honey from our bees and a spoon of artificial creamer. I forget to use the coconut milk we bought yesterday.
Early hours have been a habit for years, but I wrestle with them lately. Or maybe it’s just sleep I wrestle with. Menopause. The early-fifties. Too many hours pushing the mind or aging muscles until I’m too achy to sleep. They’re all factors in my morning forgetfulness. But this feels like aging, and possibly, some of it is. I have to be fair to myself.
The sum of all this rambling is that I’m clinging to the wrong thing. I’m clinging to fear, worry and anxiety. Not life and not what matters most. Aging catches us all. Poor health is something I can try to avoid. Loneliness is something I can try to avoid. Fear of the future can come at any age, has, and is something I constantly lay down at the cross.
Here are the verses I found myself caught up in this morning. They remind me of youthfulness. Simple words have life. What I’m clinging to falls away as I focus on what I’m really chasing after–what matters most:
Romans 12:9-15 (NASB)
“Let love be without hypocrisy. Abhor what is evil; cling to what is good. 10 Be devoted to one another in brotherly love; give preference to one another in honor; 11 not lagging behind in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord; 12 rejoicing in hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer, 13 contributing to the needs of the saints, practicing hospitality. 14 Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. 15 Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep.”
Sometimes we need words to remind us that this life is not about us. I’m letting go again. I’m trusting in the giver of life.