Strange. I’m falling in love with all these old folks. Most of my life, I paid no attention to those 70-, 80- and 90-year-olds who kept getting in my way. (Can’t they walk a little faster in the grocery store? Hey, you don’t need to come to a complete stop before taking a right turn.) Recently, I’ve been bumping into them more often and discovering some remarkable qualities.
First off, they turn out to be decades smart, and they find no need to show it off. I have to prod them to talk about the things they did to help shape our world. The years seemed to have shaved off their arrogance and replaced it with a charming humility.
Secondly, they don’t seem to be thinking about something big coming up like I always used to. These old folks are appreciating the moment, enriched by a colorful touch of their yesterdays.They never make me feel as if I’m being rushed out the door.
Finally, I find beauty in their faces and hands. They tell stories of past loves, hardships and victories. The veins, the brown spots, the wrinkles have all been earned. If you can’t see God’s artistry in them, you’re looking through the wrong lens.
When I grow up, I want to be just like them.
Oops. I’m already there.