These days, I’m constantly being reminded that I’m getting older, from arthritis in my joints to forgetting why I opened a particular drawer or walked into a certain room. Soon my hair will be entirely gray, and I find myself wondering if others would notice if I had ‘work done,’ not that I would. It’s a thought, though.
Too many of my grade school and high school classmates have passed away, and I have a couple of friends who’ve gone through the heartbreak and agony of burying their child. So I’m well aware that not everyone gets to grow old; I just never appreciated getting older until 2011.
On several occasions I’ve testified to being grateful for having lived two lives: one as an alcoholic and one as a woman in recovery. With sobriety came better life choices and my health improved greatly. With sobriety came the realization that it was only by the grace of God that I was spared any number of consequences that would have horribly impacted my life and possibly that of others. That’s when I really began to value my life.
Supposedly all of our cells regenerate every seven years or so such that we’re completely new people. While that’s not entirely accurate, it highlights the importance of discarding what is no long useful to make room for what is. After all, a master gardener is always mindful of when to prune for maximum growth and yield.
I’m growing old—not just getting older—and with that comes the desire to live out however much time there’s left the best way I’ve learned how. And I’ve learned a lot, most of it the hard way, and I still am learning. When I know better, I do better. And that’s what counts.
I remembered thy judgments of old, O Lord; and have comforted myself. ~Psalm 119:52
