THE GENE MIRROR

I’m not sure what prompted the writer of this little ditty.

I think it’s saying that our parents’ traits (and physical characteristics) show up more as we age. Or, as another wag put it, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the oak tree. I’ll never know how my mother would have looked at my age now. It’s been 41 years since cancer took her at age 59. I do remember her early-crinkly skin—she blamed it on being Norwegian. Chemotherapy messed with her hair cells so much I’ll never know how natural gray would have come.

We both suffered broken ankles (as did my sister), so have a well-earned limp. Her cooking style included “frugal smorgasbord”—using the Norwegian feast word to dress up a menu of refrigerator leftovers. I’ve been known to similarly plan a menu by checking out what’s hiding in plastic containers in the frig. She hardly met a piece of fabric she didn’t want to create something out of. Well, I enjoy making something useful out of scraps, but don’t have the room to stockpile “projects” as she did. (Her sewing workroom/storage was my old 10x10 bedroom—so full it became a yard sale of itself after her death.)

Thoughts of her “at rest” bring up her relaxing in her mustard yellow rocker (oh, such an ugly color) with her “letters box” in her lap.  This was a clipboard with a storage compartment underneath for her stationery and stamps.  She wrote hundreds of letters back in those pre-computer days to keep her eight siblings connected. I have sticky notes near my computer to remind me to drop a note (by mail or e-mail) to someone who comes to mind, especially to bring encouragement.  Even in this era of cryptic, quickie E-notes, there’s something to treasure in a real letter. It seems warmer.

WRINKLES
I’ve come to the stage of life where the title of a Madeline L’Engle book describes my face: “A Wrinkle in Time.” I never slathered it with pricey skin creams; maybe I should have. But then I recall Mother's excuse of having the Norske genes for wrinkles. 

I’ve heard it said that our faces are mirrors to our soul. I’m not sure what people think when they see me. I hope they look past the aging imperfections to my heart. I’m proud of my children, who grew up with quality friends, excelled in high school and college, and now are married with children, responsible employment, still-quality friends, and—most important—a faith in Christ they “own.” I think of Proverbs 15:20: “A wise son brings joy to his father, but a foolish man despises his mother.”  I’ve seen the second happen, and it is very sad.  Then there’s Proverbs 23:22: “Listen to your father, who gave you life, and do not despise your mother when she is old.” During the time Solomon penned these proverbs, women were not respected. Their role was to bear children and keep the household going. I’m glad Solomon paused to encourage respect and honor to mothers.

More than we probably realize, we imitate our parents. If they are, or were, good people, it is a high calling. If they lacked in principle or honor, it’s even more imperative that we seek to change the image of our past. Or, to put it another way, to look into God's mirror, with the perfect image of His Son as our Example, and say, "In my spirit and character, I want to look more and more like Jesus." 

Can't go wrong with that!

PORTENT (Psalm 71)

Smile--an illustration of "ripe old age"! This is an 

"heirloom" tomato.

(A continuing series on the 48 psalms listed as "recommended reading" for times of depression, from pastor/counselor David Seamands in his book Healing for Damaged Emotions.)

This is often called the “old peoples’ psalm,” but one little one in verse 7 kept gnawing at me as I read the psalm in several translations.  It’s from this verse, rendered in the New International Version (also the English Standard Version) this way:

I have become a portent to many, but you are my strong refuge.

My notes next to it---perhaps from a long-ago sermon or other study—said this: "a barometer or sign; others took faith cues from him.” In other translations it’s rendered “example” (New Living), “wonder” (1611 and New King James), “marvel” (New American Standard), and “mystery” (Today’s English Version).

WHAT'S THAT WORD?

Sometimes it’s important (not related to portent) to understand specific words, and I think this is the case here. The enormous Thorndike Barnhart dictionary defines it as “a warning, usually of coming evil; sign, omen.” The original Hebrew, mopheth, denotes something conspicuous, a sign or a perhaps ominous event. Think of Moses and his “signs” or miracles before Pharaoh. So how, in old age, can we be a “portent” to many?

 I think the answer is in reconsidering the new attitude toward aging. Long ago, the aged were respected and looked up to. Today, we dread turning 55, when the mailbox begins to bulge with AARP and cremation options literature. Our culture has shifted to worshiping the youth culture. I think of that when I see a mature woman with beautiful silver hair—and an orange or purple stripe through it.

So what can the psalmist teach us about growing old well?

First, some housekeeping business.  Who wrote it?  This psalm and Psalm 43, which commentators believe was really the second half of Psalm 42, are the only ones without an author credit. As such, it’s anonymous, though some think it was written by a Levite about to retire from temple service.  In those days, such service was so aging and exhausting (think: constant slaughtering and heaving of carcasses up onto the altar) that Levites could only serve between the ages of 25 and 50. Others attribute it to an aging David, and that might be closer to the truth if it is attached to the five verses of Psalm 70, which pleads for God to help him.  It reads naturally into the beginning of Psalm 71. From the “help!” of Psalm 70 we go right to images of how God is our help in Psalm 71. From the first three verses, He:

*Is a refuge and rock of refuge.

*Never lets us be put to shame.

*Rescues us.

*Delivers us.

*Turns his ear toward us and saves us.

*Is our fortress

His enemies have no such perspective. They claim that God has forsaken him (v. 11) so it’s time to pursue and seize him.  To this, the psalmist counters that he will have hope and praise God more, declaring His mighty acts (vv. 14-16).

The psalm, I think, turns on verses 17-18:

Since my youth, O God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds.  Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O Lord, till I declare your power to the next generation, your might to all who are to come.

That’s the “portent,” the example of steadfast faith even to old age. Yes, the psalmist has his godless enemies and distracters. So do we, and sometimes our “distracters” are people who claim to know God but don’t behave like it. I heard it said that “Hurting people hurt people.” I’ve experienced that. But God is bigger than their mean words and actions, which nibble at me, pushing me into the blues or even depression. To be a “portent,” a warning against such things, I need to turn back to praise.

My tongue will tell of your righteous acts all day long,

For those who wanted to harm me have been put to shame and confusion. (v. 24)

Someone once said that when we get to Heaven, God’s not going to check us out for beauty but for battle scars. Troubles and trials are inevitable. Praise turns us into “portents”—older people to lead the way in loving and honoring Jesus Christ.

Rust out or wear out?

Where it came from, nobody really knows, but most people have heard the proverb, “It’s better to wear out than rust out.”  The meaning, of course, is that active old age is far better than waning old age. When I recently turned  the big seven-oh (remember when “16” or “21” were exciting?), this derelict boat near Ephrata, Washington, took on fresh meaning for me.  Actually, it’s a concoction of old truck, boat, and fan, assembled near a former junkyard/ironworks  (I’m still not sure) by somebody who had a quirky sense of humor and some major cranes.  Its seaworthy days are long gone.
 

These milestone birthdays do make you think about where you are going in your remaining years.  Of course, none of us know how long we’ll live.  The year I turned fifty, my family and I were hit by a drunk driver. That could have been the end, but God spared us, and I’m now full-steam into the joys and challenges of grand-parenting.

But I still have time to build, or add to, my “legacy.”  When your older friends’ names start showing up in the obituaries, you start reading those.  In my town, for an extra fee, newspapers allow survivors to print full biographies about their loved one.  (The “free” death notices just state  a name, age, hometown, and date of death.) Some of those get quite interesting.  I remember one that suggested their loved one was now enjoying casino games in Heaven.  Oh, sure.  But I take note of those that summarize character qualities:  “She was generous and hospitable, and taught Sunday school for forty years.”  Or “He was a caring, honest man whose faith in Jesus was most important to him.”

GIVE ME THIS HILL COUNTRY

Though it’s not recorded in scripture, I wonder what an obituary might have said about an indomitable senior named Caleb.  Of the original huge throng that escaped Egypt, only he and Joshua survived the forty years of wandering and were allowed into the Promised Land.  Caleb is best known for declaring, as the land was divided:
So here I am today, eighty-five years old!  I am still as strong today as the day Moses sent me out; I’m just as vigorous to go out to battle now as I was then. Now give me this hill country that the Lord promised me that day.  (Joshua 14:10b-11)
Caleb wasn’t looking for beach-front place to build a resort.  The land he had his eye on included huge walled cities (Numbers 13:30-33) known for a tribe of tall, strong people (giants).  This old warrior was going for it—full steam ahead. 

I’m not about to strap on a sword and pick up a shield, but birthdays have become milestones to think of where I have been and where I am going, for the Lord.  I don’t want to rust out and give up.  Trust me, I have more aches and pains than I like. But in whatever is ahead, I want God to use me the best way possible. I want to be one of those men and women described in Psalm 92:14:
They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green, proclaiming, “The Lord is upright; he is my rock, and there is no wickedness in Him.”
You don’t say that from the helm of a rusty, abandoned ship!

Birthday Babe

Hear ye, hear ye. I declare the truth, that I am turning 63 this week.

Sixty three!

In childhood you never consider yourself getting old, gray, and wrinkled. Or having a droopy anatomy (including wobbly upper arms--cluck, cluck). Enjoying your daily prunes. Having to say, “Just a minute until I get my glasses on.” Realizing you’re saying “huh?” a lot more than you used to. (My hearing loss began when my kids participated in puberty’s art of mumbling.)

Yup, I’m there. But I also realized I’ve now outlived my mother (she died of cancer just after her 59th birthday) and soon will outlive my father (he died of a heart attack at 63 years, 3 months).

I take comfort in knowing I’m not the oldest chick working out at a women’s gym. (It doesn’t have mirrors, dahling….)

This past year, as I’ve transitioned out of years of care-giving, I’ve been asking what the Lords wants of the rest of my earthly life.

I certainly have some role models. Noah, boat-building and zoo-keeping at 600. (Alas, maintaining a 15-pound cat doesn’t compare.) Abraham and Sarah, outfitting a nursery at 90 (let’s skip that one, though I am collecting classic kid books for future grandkids). Moses, going on an extended wilderness trek at 80. Caleb, homesteading at 80. Not to forget Anna, still serving in the temple at 84. John, in his 90s, writing in his spare time in a hard-labor prison.

Right now, the word “continue” comes to mind. As in: continue enjoying my “senior discount” at the thrift stores (some kick it in at 55, others at 60).
But even more important: to “continue in your faith, established and firm, not moved from the hope held out in the gospel” (Colossians 1:23).

By my bed I’ve hung a framed copy of the words to my favorite hymn, “Be Thou My Vision”:
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
Naught be all else to me, save what Thou art—
Thou my best thought by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

I need that reminder on the days I look in a mirror and the face looking back has more lines than notebook paper and those once dramatic black eyebrows are more like a weed patch. (I won’t even start in on the chin thistles.) My neck has a backup crew and everything south of there has gone south.

But the curtain hasn’t fallen yet. Moses, who knew plenty about “the best is yet to come” (his most significant ministry happened between 80 and 120), wrote, “Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad for all our days” (Psalm 90:14).

That’s my birthday song, friends. Each morning, glad for a fresh start.