We’ve all seen the type.
Young people are not normally ascribed to this category because we all know they haven’t fully developed nor discovered who they are yet.
But we all know the type of person who always has an opinion, and her opinion always outweighs anyone else’s. She’s the type that will set her Starbucks down only long enough to point her finger in your face and tell you how the cow eats the cabbage. This type of person makes me wonder how she finds any joy at all. Her mental framework only allows for brute force rather than peace and contentment.
Then there’s the salty old person we all know – the one whose every verbal sentiment is a complaint. It’s the neighbors, or the kids in the yard, or young peoples’ hair or music. It’s always something.
My husband jokes about looking forward to being the “ornery” type when he’s old…because he thinks they’re funny. He’s already pretty ornery (always has been), but he balances that with a colossal sense of humor. So ornery, yes, but he doesn’t have to be a “grouchy ornery.” I’ll take that!
When I was 25 and indestructible, I rarely ever had a thought like this. But now, I realize how lightening-fast time shoots forward, and I can’t help but think about it: what kind of old person do I want to be?
That’s a season that is now as imminent as death, unless the Lord calls me home first.
Years ago, when we were in our late 30’s, we went to a smaller church. Oh things were busy back then…three young boys, I was homeschooling them all, trying to balance that with being a desirable and productive wife, a godly teacher and mentor, and still growing as a child of God.
There was an older woman at that church, whose white hair and wrinkled smile would light up the room when she walked in. She always had a million wrinkles on her beautiful face because she smiled. All. The. Time. Ms. Edith literally glowed with a genuine love for people, a peace that consistently sustained her regardless of her circumstances, and a spirit like a lion. I loved her like my own grandmother from the moment I laid eyes on her.
When she became ill and was dying in the hospital, I went to visit her and took my Bible with me. Because if I knew anything about Ms. Edith, I knew she was missing her time in the Word of God while laying in that bed. When I asked her if I could read to her, her face lit up. I read mostly from the Psalms, and at one point, I thought she fell asleep. So I kept my “reading voice,” but asked if she wanted me to continue, expecting I’d get no reply.
In spite of her pain and I’m sure some drug-induced sleepiness, that familiar map of wrinkles spread across her lovely face as she smiled and slowly nodded “yes.”
I will never forget that beautiful woman. I am so thankful to have had the opportunity to know her.
And she’s what I want to be like when I get old.
But how do I get there?
There is no doubt there is an enemy to my soul…it’s the same enemy my Father has.
This enemy does not have the power to permanently squelch me physically…think a hand over my mouth…to keep me from speaking or acting. God has given me autonomy and protection as His child.
At least until He sees fit for something else. There are no guarantees.
The enemy’s favorite (and most used) tactic is not forcefully shutting my mouth…it’s getting in my head and shutting down my mind, causing incapacitation by thinking untrue thoughts. Things like, “You have nothing important to offer,” or “Nobody cares about that,” or “You really need to be doing xyz instead….”
I’m determined to not believe any of that anymore.
I can’t please everyone, that’s true enough. But anything that I may say could benefit another person because we all go through the same types of things. I refuse to believe that my lessons are for me only.
And that’s why I can smile. That’s how I can move through life understanding that this life is not meant to be rosy and streamlined and clean of discomfort all the time. It’s mucky and germy and convoluted most of the time. That doesn’t mean God is not on my side, it just means He has a purpose for all these things that might go beyond me.
I might need to be reminded of this from time to time, but I’m really okay with that.
At my 50th birthday party my husband threw for me, I told my family that they were now in charge of my birthday gift for my 80th birthday. They are now commissioned to contribute to my laugh lines that I hope to collect over the next 30 years.
It’s an investment that I believe will return 100-fold one day.
But I know the deepest and most consistent contributor to those smile lines is my own dang self: the thoughts I allow to dominate, and my own attitude. The fam’s contribution just makes it more fun!
“With mirth and laughter, let old wrinkles come.”
Shakespeare
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