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!

100 Birthday Blankets

The last 26 blankets

Let’s get this out of the way first. In preparing to write this column, I wanted to quote Jesus’ counsel about not bragging when you do “acts of righteousness.” Wouldn’t you know it: when I opened my Bible to get the chapter and verse, it fell right open to Matthew 6:1: “Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness' before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.” What are the odds, in a study Bible of some 2,000 pages, of turning to that exact page? I think God wanted that top and center! As you read on, bring praise to God, not to me. Please!

Earlier this week, I delivered three bulging garbage bags containing 26 patchwork baby blankets to the obstetrics ward of our local hospital. With that delivery, I completed a goal of 100 donated blankets in time for my 65th birthday this week. Call it a “bucket list” item, if you wish.

The baby blanket story began last fall, when my church challenged its members to go out in the community as Jesus’ hands instead of showing up for morning services. Thus, folks from my church helped others as they painted, weeded, cleared brush, shoveled gravel, cleaned, hauled, wrote encouragement notes—you name it. As an asthmatic, I was reluctant to join a yardwork team and risk more breathing problems. But I can sew, and I had recently learned that blankets could be used by my local hospital to give the very needy or “crisis” deliveries. About 12-15 babies a month (about a tenth of total births) are born to families so poor or troubled that they're unprepared for their infant’s needs. They may live in their cars or come from another impoverished situation.

I began with sewing and donating about a dozen. And I kept going, regularly visiting thrift stores and yard sales for scrap fabric for the projects. By early summer I was approaching 65—a number I thought would be appropriate for my 65th year of life. Then one Saturday at a yard sale, I told the seller what I was going to do with the fabric I was buying. She said, “Give me your phone number. I have more.” A week later she dropped off a heaped box of fabric for more blankets. A seller at another yard sale gave me a large pile of batting scraps I could sew together. At a local thrift store I spotted old blankets (now designated “dog blankets” for $1 each) that I could wash and then cut for batting. Thus the new goal: 100.

I’m taking a break from sewing to return to writing. But I know I’ll make and donate more blankets in months ahead. A friend remarked to me how nice it would be to have a picture of a baby wrapped in one of my blankets. Because of hospital privacy rules, I know that won’t happen. But I’ve learned that when you do something for the Lord (usually something that’s irrational but Spirit-motivated), you fling it out there and let Him do the rest, even though you may never know the rest of the story.

Last weekend as I sat at our kitchen table, tying the last blankets with yarn, I remembered a quote from the writings of minister/author Frederick Buechner. He wrote: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”

God probably won’t call you to sew 100 patchwork baby blankets. But you can be sure there’s a need out there that He wants you to embrace. Take the risk. I never imagined my “project” stretching me to sew 100, but it did. And it was with gratitude to God, and prayers for its unknown recipients, that I wrapped up this “birthday challenge” with—yes, deep gladness.

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.