Digging for gold.

At a time when we’re tired of change, change turns out to be the actual agenda.  So how do we make peace with the uninvited challenges of growing old?

Growing old.  I have mixed feelings about it. 

Although I hoped I would live a nice, long time, I guess I thought I could do so without actually growing “old”, an idea that never had any appeal to me. 

That was for those old people, those folks whose lives were in some way diminished, who lived in the past and bemoaned what this world had come to.  Folks who once lived in full color, but slowly began to fade into sepia tones, walk with a bend in their spine, or go to bed at 7:30.

That was fine for them (bless their sweet hearts).  But me?  If I thought of growing old at all, I suppose I just planned to live on in a single trajectory, the full-color me, energy and ideas and joy intact until I went out with a bang, like a firework—POOF!  Full, glorious color, an awesome finale accompanied by joyful “ahh’s”, and then fall softly silent.

What that bang might be never occurred to me.  I somehow just thought I’d live with my foot fully on the gas all my days, and then inexplicably stop and join the next world.

The last couple of years have taught me a thing or two.

1.    Age happens.

I’m not in charge of this growing old thing. 

Well, yes, I can impact it somewhat with good choices.  But I never planned to feel this tired, to bend over just fine but have difficulty standing back up, or to not be able to reach the zipper in the back of my dress.  I say “Ow!” far too much.  No one told me that losing estrogen starts a cascade that depletes you of dopamine and serotonin. I feel like I’m still getting to know this new version of me, the one that is suddenly quite ADHD, scattered, moody, and has difficulty finishing things. 

She’s not my favorite just now.  Sometimes I kindly comfort her.  Other days I want to slap her.

2.    Stuff happens.

As it turns out, you don’t really sail into old age, but sort of trip over the threshold and fall into it.  And sometimes in the process, you break things.

Apparently, no one is in charge of all the things that impact their own happiness or wholeness.  I have my own story of surprises and changes and adjustments, some of which you’ve heard about here on the blog.  But so do you!  When I look around, most of my friends are dealing with some kind of grief, a physical limitation for themselves or a spouse, a deep loss—maybe distance, broken relationships, deep grief, financial change. 

At a time when we’re tired of change, change turns out to be the actual agenda.  Like erosion, stuff just happens, shifts, slides and sags.  And we’re left figuring out how to shovel the mudslide that is about to flow in the front door.

3.    Loss happens.

If we’re old, our parents are ancient.  They slip away.  Our children, too, grow and change, and we miss what once was.  There are moves and shifts and standing at gravesides and closing out careers.  We don’t get to choose what or whom we hold onto.  Even technology keeps throwing out the familiar and urging us to find yet another new and better way to listen to our music—or someone’s music—and how to wear our hair or use the English language.   

With each micro-loss, we grieve a little, or maybe just get a little more cranky.  I find I don loss reluctantly and wear it awkwardly until it finally settles into the fabric of who I am.

. . . . . . . . . .

“Well, THAT WAS DEPRESSING!”

No, that was discomfort. 

Change is uncomfortable, because it’s coming at a time when we are beginning to resist rather than embrace the new.  The word “transition” naturally implies movement; we are “in transit,” moving from one place to another. It implies we are getting somewhere, making progress. 

The alternative to change is, I suppose, to stop growing, stay the same, entrench and defend.  Stay stuck right there, still angry about [fill-in-the-blank], wearing big hair and listening to our Sony Walkman. 

If that sounds comfortable to you, remember that the world is not going to stay there with you.  Un-change is lonely.

I sometimes resent the myriad of changes, but here is something else  I’m learning as I age:

4.    Growth happens.

You know those bare branches outside your window, and the remnants of garden lying sodden and flat on your soil?  They are not sad, not barren, not dying.  Under the surface they are quietly working, happily and faithfully repairing and strengthening their roots, readying for the new surge of growth that is coming.  Content to cooperate with this season of resting, they settle in, send their roots down deep, and believe in Spring.

As I’m writing this, a thick, white fog has blanketed my hometown, so that a drive down a familiar highway feels eerily foreign.  It’s like I’m barreling through space, hoping the asphalt will get there before I do, trusting it to be there.  I can’t see it, but I believe.  So I don’t stop; I slow a little and drive, and settle into this murky, foggy day.  I stop to sip tea, sort through my inner world, turn my inner “soil” a bit, and wait for Spring. 

Change is the stirring of something new.  If we resist it, we stay stuck.  If we prepare ourselves for it, growth is already on it’s way.

Psalm 92:12-14 talks about growing old this way:

“The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, and grow like a cedar in Lebanon. Planted in the house of the LORD, they will flourish in the courts of our God. In old age they will still bear fruit; healthy and green they will remain.”

Ahhhh….  I can feel my heart settling down, can’t you? 

Live the season.  Embrace the change.  Be confident that despite the fog, God will catch you, will arrive there before you, arms open and a big smile on his face.  And I don’t mean when we arrive in heaven; I mean when we arrive at “OLD”.

We are growing old, but we are not just growing old.  We can be growing, old.

. . . . . . . .

“Have you chosen your word for the year yet?” the podcaster asked in a voice far too chipper for my grim frame of mind yesterday.

“Have you chosen your word for the year yet?”  I silently mock, sick of hearing about words for the year.  How dumb is that?  What, am I going to print it on a mug or something?

And then a word appears in my head unbidden. It's all in caps, with a little wink between the G and the O. It's gleaming like…

G,OLD.

My twinkle returns, too, as I grasp what it is I'm ready and longing for in this season. Growing old is inevitable. But Growing, OLD is a whole different thing. I'm choosing Growing. Not Fear, not Misery, not Complaining.  (Imaging printing FOLD, MOLD or COLD on a mug!) I'm choosing to Grow. I'm choosing GOLD.

My next new thing is Growing, OLD.

He knows the way that I take; when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold.

Job 23:10 ESV

. . . . . . .

Want to come on this journey with me?  This year we’re going to peel back the layers and look at what it means to grow in this new “Old” season of aging and change. Let's drop the façade, be real, and bravely explore how to keep Growing, OLD.  We can finish well, cheer one another on, grieve and support each other’s losses, and plant new seeds of courage and faith.  Let’s cultivate health, friendship, and hope.  Who knows; maybe we’ll even make some mugs together! 

Let’s never stop Growing, OLD.