Growing Old

A few weeks ago I was sitting behind my harp making music, when suddenly the little black notes seemed to be dancing. 

So I sit there, shifting my eyes from side to side, up and down. Wouldn't you know it, there's a new floater in my right eye. A totally obnoxious one.  I also notice wavy folds in my vision, and these light streaks moving up around the right edge of the same eye. It takes all the fun out of harping.

I wait a day to see what will happen. Totally obnoxious floater is still there, although the light-flashing thing really only bothers me in the dark. Hmmm.

The next day the view from my right eye is the same. I call a local optometrist and they give me the next available appointment, in two days.

I show up bright and early for the first appointment on that day. I tell them my problem. They dilate the bothersome eye and the optometrist carefully and thoroughly examines my retina. You know, the kind of examination that requires a very bright light pointed directly into your eye as you look at his left shoulder, and the top of his head, and the clock on the wall to the right...

"It looks fine," he finally says. "I can't find any little tears or anything in your retina."

He continues shining the painfully bright light in my fully dilated eyeball.

"Oh, whoa!" he says with some excitement. "I found the floater and yep, it looks just like you described it!"

"See why it's bugging me so much?" I reply. I love it when my complaints are vindicated by someone with a medical degree. Trust me, that doesn't always happen.

"Uh oh...and yep, there is some vitreous detachment there. That's what's triggering the light flashes and the wavy threads," he says very matter-of-factly.

"So what causes it?" I ask. This is really a trick question because I have already done my research on the internet. Still, I brace myself for the answer.

"It's a normal part of aging," he says, and, to his credit, he looks a bit apologetic.

"Will it heal?" I ask.

"No...these things don't heal," he says regretfully.

Is it just me, or are the answers to life's questions mostly turning out to be about growing old these days? Good thing I already had an idea of what was coming. I square my shoulders. I place my darkest sunglasses over my unequally light sensitive eyes and breathe what has recently become my most frequent prayer as I drive home.

God, please use this to consume more of my dross and to refine my gold.

On days when the list of troubles seems to be outrunning the list of blessings, I return like a thirsty woman to these soul-sustaining words:

In this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that your faith - of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire - may be proved genuine and may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen Him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in Him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the goal of your faith, the salvation of your souls.*

Now a vitreous detachment and obnoxious floater are certainly not the worst things I've encountered in what (certain people keep reminding me) has been a loooong life. Even in this aging body of mine the eye seems to be improving. Or else I am just adapting to the new view from my right eye. Either way, I am pleased that this recent event sent my thoughts to the bigger picture. 

My time on this beautiful blue and green planet has a God-directed limit. As David wrote:

Show me, O Lord, my life's end
and the number of my days;
Let me know how fleeting is my life.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth;
the span of my years is as nothing before You.
Each man's life is but a breath. 
Man is a mere phantom as he goes to and fro;
he bustles about, but only in vain;
he heaps up wealth, not knowing who will get it.
But now, Lord, what do I look for?
My hope is in You.+ 

I'm with David on this one. My hope is in God, too. I want to live each day that He gives me as fully as I can, honoring Him in the small, seemingly repetitive and unimportant duties as well as in the opportunities for grand and wonderful things. I want to do this right up until the time He has predetermined for my final Home-going.

But in the meantime, all the things I'd prefer to avoid become tools in God's loving hands. He redeems the everyday, mundane kind of troubles just as readily as the really big, life-threatening, life-changing kinds. He uses them to make us better reflections of Jesus.

So I am learning to lift my eyes heavenward and say the prayer a bit quicker with each new trouble, be it large or small. Somehow it helps to know that these very things are designed to serve a greater purpose in my life.

I love this old hymn more and more as I get, well, older and older.

How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He hath said 
to you, who for refuge to Jesus have fled.

"Fear not, I am with thee - O be not dismayed,
For I am thy God, I will still give thee aid;
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
upheld by My gracious omnipotent hand.

"When through the deep waters I call thee to go,
the rivers of woe shall not thee overflow;
for I will be with thee thy troubles to bless,
and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress.

"When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie,
my grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply;
the flame shall not hurt thee-I only design 
thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

"The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose,
I will not, I will not desert to his foes;
that soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I'll never - no, never - no, never forsake!"

Quite recently I discovered an additional verse that has been excluded in most hymn books. I am quite sure the outdated words would have set me giggling in church as a child, embarrassing my poor mother, and resulting in a surreptitious pinch to settle me down. 

But it is a shame, really, because its intent and meaning are quite relevant to the very thing I am trying to express. Here it is for your enjoyment. You may laugh at will without incurring bodily harm. Note that I have provided a few helpful definitions.

"Even down to old age all my people shall prove
My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;
and when hoary (white with age) hairs shall their temples adorn,
like lambs they shall still in my bosom (protective place/chest) be borne.

Lord, allow me the privilege of proving your gracious love

through everything life brings me

as my hairs continue to turn white, one by one. 

Amen

How Firm A Foundation    - Attributed to John Keith (1787) 



*1 Peter 1:6-8
+Psalm 39:4-7

Waiting On Fall

National Asset and I are sitting on the newly cleaned front porch, enjoying our lunch.

"It feels like fall," I say, and he agrees. 

But it is only mid-August. My neighbor Bobsie and I were discussing this a few days ago over fresh blackberry cobbler. Fresh, as in straight from the bushes near the reservoir to my kitchen. 

"The oak trees are already shedding their leaves," I say. 

"And the acorns are falling, too," she adds. They make a gunshot-sharp crack! when they hit blacktop or roof.

We discuss this a bit. Is fall coming early? Is it the drought? Or does this happen every August?

This will be our third autumn up in the Sierra foothills. It ties with spring as my favorite season, and its charms include welcome cooler temperatures after the hot, thirsty summer; downward drifting oak leaves and maples turning flame-colored; bushy-tailed squirrels flying through the treetops, as if playing on a giant trapeze, while they gather acorns.  

There are other signs, too. There always seems to be more spiders, or least more webs, this time of year. These industrious creatures build the most amazing gossamer labyrinths in about every corner on the property. It is common to find very tough, sticky black widow webs extending from the eaves to the deck. If we were ever to get trick-or-treaters, way down here at the end of a very dark road, we wouldn't even have to decorate. The arachnids already have it covered.

Last evening, as twilight was sinking down behind the woods, we heard a loud knocking on our front door. We looked at each other, as if we had heard something totally foreign. It is rare to hear this sound, and it was so loud and persistent that it could not be ignored. 

"The doorbell is still broken," I say, as if that explains everything.

We hurry to see who is rapping, rapping, not so gently on our chamber door. The Asset outruns me and opens it. 

There stands a boy. He is nicely dressed and about the size of Oldest Grandson. He holds a colorful flyer in his hand. He is looking for work. The Asset listens politely to his schpeel as I peek around the door jam.

When he is finished he hands me his flyer, neatly titled "NoahWorks",  and I look it over.

"I can do all kinds of jobs," he says. "My work is guaranteed to be great, or it is free."

"How old are you?" I ask.

"I turned twelve yesterday," he answers proudly.

"Are you Noah?"

"Yes, I am," he replies.

He gazes up at the corners of the porch ceiling, then back at me. 

"I can remove cobwebs," he says tactfully. 

And I think, is this kid a born salesman or what? Between cobweb removal (number 2 on his list) and pull weeds (number 10) alone, he could probably earn enough money from us during the next six years to pay for his first year of college.

He asks to have the sole copy of his 'Work Available To Do' list back, and also for my email address. I hesitate. He assures me he will guard it with the utmost care. I give it to him.

"Do you know, are there anymore houses down here?" he asks in parting.

"Nope. We are the last house," we reply.

Then he walks back up the long driveway. 

Past the trash can I had not yet hauled back down to the house (number 17: haul trash cans to curb and return when empty). 

Past the brown oak leaves that are pretty much covering everything (number 6: rake leaves). 

Past countless numbers of random dead branches laying about (number 8: pick up sticks) and on home to his mother (number 14: walk dogs, with Mom's help).

So today I get out my broom and make hay of the cobwebs on the front porch and surrounding eaves. I move our $20 yard sale wicker furniture around and give the place a good sweeping. I  discover a wasp nest on the back of the love seat and choose to ignore it. Live and let live, I say. I've been sitting there all summer without incident and see no need to provoke hard feelings with them on this beautiful day. 

I prepare grilled sourdough sandwiches, filled with mozzarella cheese and fresh farmer's market tomatoes and basil, and we bring them outside to enjoy on our clean front porch. 

And yes, from this vantage point I can picture a young boy, eager to work and earn a little money, pulling velcro plant weeds and filling in the mole holes in our dead lawn (number 9: fill in holes in yard caused by pets or pests) and learning a little bit about life in the process.