Redeeming the Time

 

She stood at the top of the steps of the porch of the ante-bellum house, shading her eyes from the sun, peering over the crowd of party-goers. She scanned the crowd for her husband of nearly 45 years, listening intently for his laugh, his voice, anything to give her an indication of where he could be amongst this large crowd of wedding celebrants. "Ma'am. . . do you need help?" A voice broke into her thoughts. She looked to her left at a young woman below her with her hand out, as if to assist her down the  brick steps. She stood up straighter, strode briskly down the steps, and threw a response over her shoulder with a snap in her voice, "Do I look feeble to you, young lady?"

Okay, maybe it didn't happen exactly like this, as in I didn't respond with a snap, or even throw that remark back to that sweet young college girl, but, yes. Everything else did happen pretty much exactly that way. Except for the part I left out--where the videographer looked at me and also asked if I needed help. A young man in his mid 20's I've known since he was in the nursery. I spared him, because I may need to hire him in the future. The response was, like most of my snappy comebacks, in my head for only me to appreciate.

The other sobering moment happened as I sat in a Adirondack chair on the porch, soaking up the shade. (Side noted that outdoor weddings in Florida are a sweaty event, even in the first part of November.) I struck up a conversation with a gentleman, who it turns out was acquainted with my husband from years back as John had, true to his nature, sent him money on the mission field for a crucial need. We chatted about family, found he lived close to our kids outside Cincinnati, and knew their pastor. We talked about grandchildren, and laughed about the difference in raising children versus spoiling their children. Then it went south. Although he was only a year or two younger than I am, he asked me a question that defied explanation. After I said we have twelve grandchildren, he casually asked, "Any greats yet?" 

Remember that snappy comeback from earlier? In my head, the cool customer, the classy southern belle stood to her feet, slapped the disrespectful fellow across the face with her afternoon white gloves and said disdainfully, "I beg your pardon, sir. I am not nearly old enough. You have not only insulted me, but my daughter and the character of her daughter as well. Good afternoon." Then turned and glided gracefully away. Sigh..but alas, no. I merely smiled and said, "No. Our oldest grandchild is only 17 and still in high school."

As I wandered around the remainder of the wedding reception, watched the young people celebrate and then chatted with old friends and struck up new acquaintances, I was aware of the passing of time. Not just that the wedding started at noon, and it was getting close to 4:30 and we had an hour drive home, but the passing of time in our lives.  The two moments which I lightheartedly referenced could have been very depressing for me if I dwelled on them. Is this the way that I will now be viewed? Older? Weak? At risk? It will if that is how I present myself. If that is how I see myself. 

There is that irritating phrase, "Age is just a number." Really? How does that work? Does that work in any other area? The age of your automobile? Your home? You can't just ignore the passing of years. They are real and they take a toll. But, they also leave behind incredible benefits. Legacies. 

I refuse to talk about the value and beauty of antiques here. I am not quite an antique, yet. But there are things that happen with the passing of time that come to light that is a beautiful thing. The sharp edges of rocks are worn away by the rushing of water over them, and they become smooth and beautiful, the color and patina revealed.  

Let's get really basic. Violins and Ukuleles sound better the older they are. The more they are used, the longer the notes will ring.

How about jeans and boots? The longer we have our favorite pair of either, or both, the more they mold to us, caress us and fit us. And how we mourn when we wear them out and have to replace them.

Cast iron, whether it is the skillet your grandmother used, or the old kettle that the wagon cook used on the trail. The more it was used, the more seasoned it became, the better the food tasted that came from it. 

And us: as we age, we grow in wisdom. We glean from years of life, relationships and experiences. Things that grow with us are almost limitless. Some I've seen are the ability to converse, take time in making decisions, manage stress and negative emotions. The actual number of our close friendships may have changed, but the quality of those friendships has changed as well. As we age, we find we may no longer make as much room in our lives for superficial relationships, but limit our time with only the closest. This makes the value increase drastically. Family becomes the foundation of our lives, not our friends, not our jobs, not status. Priorities change--a direct result of that wisdom growth.

People are different, I get that. Everyone's life looks different, and how we age and grow old will look different as well. One thing is sure, however. Time stops for no one. Which is why I will do what I can to use it wisely:

See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is.  Ephesians 5:15-17

I do believe I know what God wants me to be doing, and I am seeking to do it as best I can. I will seek to redeem the time, and be aware that the world around me is indeed evil. 

Do you know what God would have to you do with the time He has given you? It may be a lifetime stretched out before you, or it may be, like me, a matter of a couple of decades. Life is a vapor, but if we want it to count for Him, we will redeem it.