Periodically in San Francisco, in years following my retirement and move away, I had lunch with my elder daughter, Sharon, who lived there at the time. These were special events for me. The image of her mother seemed to hover nearby. On occasion, I chose a restaurant her mother enjoyed during the years we lived in the City by the Bay. Our conversations ranged over family interests – past, present and future. The exchanges touched on God’s care and blessing recalled from our memories. We concentrated on what counts in relationships.
Sharon worked with her husband in his business, but wanting something different for a few weeks, she took a part-time job at Macy’s that year. We talked about it, with Christmas shopping in full swing. One of the interesting and humorous experiences described was the recital of the times she had been called, Mrs. Claus. She was so accommodating that some shoppers named her, Mrs. Claus. She wore granny spectacles toward the end of her nose, was somewhat petite in appearance (in contrast to the man known as the jolly old elf with the full round belly) and strands of gray in her hair. She didn’t look her age, in her fifties. She was still my little girl even though she was old enough to be a grandmother. I warmed at her animation. Her usual attitude is quiet.
I was only a few years older than Sharon, when a pastor of a church where I was guest speaker, asked if I was up to walking up a long flight of steps in his church. That was the first moment of awareness, on my part, that someone would perceive me to be growing old. I would climb those steps that day if it meant a heart attack on the top landing.
Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be . . .– wrote Robert Browning. The American preoccupation with youth and the youth culture seems to have muted the grace of sunset life. Let it be known that the sunset years can become what I call motoring. The car is bought and paid for; the fuel tank is full from decades past; the traffic and lights of daily experience have been negotiated; the children have been dropped off along the way at chosen places; the map is well in mind; the open road is clear before us; occupational work has subsided while prayer has increased; and, we drive along a local road into the sunset. Each day we go as far as we care to, and rest.
King David acknowledged that he was old. He remembered the experiences of the past and related them to God’s care – as noted in the 37th Psalm. To have died when he was young, before he learned life’s lessons and had practiced values, before he had seen some accomplishment, would have left matters unfinished for him – unfulfilling.
It is with great appreciation that I have lived long enough that even my children are qualifying as senior citizens. Can life be better than this? If life were not so full for me, I would say, Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace. But there is some living to do, some miles to cover, before that good day to sleep, when I awaken in an eternal place. There is no room for complaint. The sunset leads to the risen Son of God. In the meantime I can prepare more fully for that which is yet to be. It is benediction time which ought to be marked with peace, with a loving spirit, with an aura of good will, with empathy for friends, and with devotion to and from my children. There is a point in all, that I did not contemplate when I was young, and that is the elder Christian has a future vision that is greater and more gratifying than anything he or she may have had during the productive years of natural life – and they were great years in themselves. *Mark W. Lee, Sr. — 2016, 2020