My husband turned 45 recently. Forty-five. Once upon a time, that was old. Now it’s who we are, and suddenly we’re looking at the Oxford definition of “middle age” and thinking, “Nah. Not us.”
Except it is us, and you can’t deny that. We are softer, and slower, and greyer than we were just a few years ago. And while a lot of people shrink from sharing their age, or insist on how young we are (which I’m sure we’ll realize when we’re looking back ten, twenty years on), Christopher and I embrace the fact that God has numbered our days and been so gracious as to allow us to draw breathe this long. Every year— every day— is a gift we don’t take for granted.
Not everyone is blessed to reach 40. Every year in August I am reminded of the life of our college friend John, which was cut short after he fell asleep on the 45-minute drive home to have his Momma do his laundry. He had just pulled an all-night building blitz for Habitat for Humanity. Just a simple college kid stunt, and a good thing, at that. John professed to be a Christian. He loved his family. He was loyal to his friends. Yet he never graduated from college. He never got married. He never held his own babies or walked into a home that had his name on the mortgage. The Lord’s plan for John’s life here on earth stopped at 21 years of age.
What about the friends who have woken up to the nightmare of a spouse who suddenly, inexplicably, passed away? “He was fine yesterday.” “It was a freak accident.” “We had no idea.” Then, without warning … they are left looking ahead into a future without the person they assumed would be at their side.
And then there are the people we love who have stared down the barrel of a disease that may or may not be able to be beat. Wrapped in prayers and petitions for just one more day, they fight with all they have to stay here and finish the work they feel called to do. To see their 20th anniversary. To tell their brother he is loved. To share the gospel with the lost. To simply watch their children grow up.
Getting old is no fun. There are aches in the morning and awkward moments when you can no longer thread a needle without looking over the top of your glasses and squinting. You can’t eat the way you used to without gaining weight, and you’re always aware that you might just lose a filling if you take that piece of gum your sweet niece offered you.
But not getting old? Not getting old means no more mornings where the fog rolls across the field. Not getting old means not sitting next to your beloved, holding his hand as one more child walks across the stage to collect that hard-earned diploma. Not getting old means no grandbabies, no bucket-list sights checked off.
Not getting old means you see Jesus face to face, and that is a thing too great to describe. But God’s gift, His plan for most of us? It’s getting old first, and unwrapping the myriad happy and sad surprises that He has prepared for us here.
So we embrace our ages. We celebrate our days. We laugh at our grey hairs, and the new texture of our fingernails, and the pops and cracks that are starting to creep in to our bodies. We laugh, and we are grateful. Our time together, this side of heaven, is a gift. We are growing old together, serving God, raising a family. And we are blessed.