|
 An
eighty-odd years young woman, almost too weak to turn in her
bed, smiled at Vivian and me and began. to talk of her
great-grandchildren, the presents she asked someone to buy for
them, the flowers she wanted to plant for her neighbor — “when
I get out of here.” Nothing but thoughts of others and an
optimistic look at the future. Not all elderly people maintain
this outlook, but enough of them do to put sunshine in the life
of younger folk.
Old
brother Anthony was the first man I ever heard say he was ready
for heaven — and make me believe it. He was not boastful. On
the contrary, he was most humble; but he said he had trusted the
Lord, and tried to serve Him faithfully, and he had no doubts
about his eternal home, for the Lord had promised to “fix a
place” for him. I’m glad that experience was early in my
preaching life, for it has given me a great “lift” in dark
times.
Elmer
Cartwright, a man of faith, was 93 when I talked with him about
a meeting date several years in the future. As I left I said,
“See you in ‘73,” to which he replied, “You may be here,
but that’s asking a lot from me.” The date was later changed
to ‘75, and he won’t make it — but his firm handshake and
impish smile will be there, and continue with
|
|
me. At 95 he gave me a walking stick he had
carved— “for your old age,” he said.
When
a sixty-year-old brother complained to an elderly woman about a
colon problem, she dismissed it by saying, “I had that back
when I was 75, but it didn’t amount to much.” Us kids don’t
get the sympathy we need.
If
you do not know any elderly folk you are missing something fine
in life. Meet a few, and give them a chance to know you, and be
known. Let their casual treatment of great spans of time help
you to better understand your own years. Try to learn the spirit
of those who can face life’s end without growing morbid or
bitter.
Following
a burial, a group of patriarchs leaned on their canes and “remembered
when.” One asked, “How old are you Uncle Ned?” When told,
96, he cackled, “Don’t hardly pay you to go home, does it?”
That would have been cruel had I said it — but the “crack”
came from a man, 97. And one said that when he first came to
Burnet, “The sun was jist a little bitty thang, a way up thar;
and, ‘y doggy, they warn’t no moon a’tall.”
[Previous
Article]
[Next
Article]
|
