Into the time that remains

I cannot add anything to Aunt Melanie's wonderful, though sobering, essay on the ramifications of ‘getting old’ except to give it a new title as I repost it here on my blog: Into the time that remains. Yes, that's what I'd call it, because that is where her beautiful meditation is heading. Perhaps the theme is not exactly relevant to Memorial Day, or maybe it is. After all, some of us one day soon will join those whom we remember today. You can read Aunt Melanie's essay at her excellent blog Repentance and Ascent.

It is not only senior citizens who are getting old. Everyone ages from the day they are born, but seniors feel the aging process with a greater urgency. Many people seem not to plan for old age, however, until the latter half of their life. I began thinking about retirement when I was in my 40s, and I wish I had started when I was in my 20s. I used to take care of everyone except myself and, honestly, money did not matter much to me. But, as the aging process began subtracting years from my lifespan, I realized that I had to assume more responsibility for my own health and welfare.

Nobody was going to take care of me. I do not expect anyone to take care of me—but I am trying to emphasize the reality of age, how quickly you can lose everything, and how difficult it would be to recover those losses in the senior years. There are illnesses, accidents, stresses, inflation, natural disasters, crime, bad investments, and miscalculations of various kinds. There are homeless people who never expected to become homeless—people like you and me.
 
Senior citizens are not going to get younger. Each birthday brings us closer to death. Each Christmas could be our last. Most people in the world are younger than us. Perhaps worse than death, worse than poverty or isolation, would be a dependence on the medical profession. It is precisely that prospect that motivates me to learn to depend on God. Pills, operations, botched operations, special diets, rehabilitation facilities, walkers, wheelchairs, oxygen tanks. I am not saying that people who need these things do not depend on God or that I am better than they are. I just mean that the prospect acts as a stimulus to deepen my spiritual life.
 
Whatever happens to me, I will trust in God that His will is sufficient for me. Whether medications or miracles, whether another day or another 30 years, whether forgotten or remembered. Ultimately, health does not matter—just as money did not matter to me when I was young. What matters is to go forward into the time that remains, following Christ with every step and praying with every breath.