I have a dear friend who is about to turn 40. Conversations with him lately are peppered with references to and jokes about middle age. (Seriously, he's already talking about retirement with great sincerity!!)
As one who is on the northern side of 40 myself, I grin at his comments. But I also appreciate the way he is acknowledging this significant marking of time.
I don't think either of us would say, "The best is yet to come" in the sense that life up until now has just been a warm-up for the "real thing" that's to come.
I guess I shouldn't speak for him! I wouldn't say that, at least. I was never one of those kids who, when they were 8, wanted to be 10 or when they were 10 wanted to be 13 or were 13 but dying to be 16. I've generally been content to be where I am in the moment.
Perhaps this is on my mind because I'm still thinking about the book I referenced in the last post ... but there is something about middle age that allows a different perspective: finally reaching a point where it's OK to love what is, instead of mourning what isn't or never will be.
Kate Bowler's own stage 4 colon cancer diagnosis in her mid-30s propelled her into this category. She writes, "When we start to have more past than future, we must allow ourselves a gentle honesty. Just as God numbers the hairs on our head, so too our days on earth can be counted. This ends, and part of accepting our finitude is bringing greater appreciation to what's gone, and what still may be" (p 130).
This same friend I mentioned earlier recommended the book they reference on p. 130, "Being Mortal." (I get a significant number of my book recommendations from him!)
Kate recalls a beautiful story in the book about asking people with whom they wanted to spend their time. The results? Kids wanted to spend time with their families, teenagers with their friends, and the guy in his thirties wanted to meet Bono.
"But then the closer people grew to death, the more they wanted to spend time with their closest friends and family again. The horizon had expanded from childhood to adulthood, and then shrunk back to that beautiful, precious core" (p 130).
She concludes, "When we have more past than future, our desires may change to love not simply what might be, but to love what already is. Our nearest and dearest. The people we couldn't get rid of if we tried. The ways our bodies and minds have carried us. The small moments of a single day" (p 131).
Blessed are you who are attempting to love what is here, what is now. You who recognize the wonder and pain looking at life's rearview mirror, at those things that are gone. The person you were. The quickness and sharpness of a body that didn't tire as quickly. The relationships and jobs and aspirations. The people you can't get back. Blessed are you, holding the gentle compassion that wraps memories in grace (p 132).
Pastor Allison
I'm curious:
Has anyone tried the "A Good Enough Step" on p 133? I'm trying to find a block of time in my day to spend on this - the idea of letting your pen "talk to you about what is here, right here and right now. Write letters and words and phrases; write the chaos that is your life."
"Then lift your pen, start in a new place, and let your pen make a word salad of desires. All of it. The things you have long hoped for, even the things that are not over. All your heart's deepest and most hidden longings."
And once you're done, you can look at that page, and with Kate and Jessica, say, "And all of this - past, present, and future - is still you. It is the particularity that is your life. Precious beyond rubies. Utterly irreplaceable, indelible."
