Columnists
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Columnists
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February
19 , 2003 Growing old, grace-filled By Mary Costello
I suppose there are as many ways to grow old as there are leaves on the trees or stars in the sky. If we could design a spectrum of “Ways to grow old….”, we would have on the left the grouchy old man who ran the corner drugstore where we grew up. He was probably driven straight over the edge by a million and one rheumy-eyed kids with runny noses pinching his penny candy and reading (and sniveling all over) magazines they’d never buy. He was always so cranky we hated him, and we know we don’t want to grow old like that. On the extreme right we have people like Pope John XXIII and Mother Teresa; we know we can never hope to grow old like that. But we sure hope our old selves will be closer to the right than the left. How do we do that? What can we do now to make sure we are the person we want to be in our 70’s? I’ve heard it said that in old age we will be just the person we were at 40, only more so. If we were inclined to be a bit cranky and short tempered when we were 40, we’ll probably be quite cranky and short tempered at 70. If we were warmhearted and gracious when we were 40, we’ll probably be everybody’s favorite grandma at 70. If we could make changes in our lives in order to live the very best retirement we could think of, what would they be? If we could design the “self’ that we would be in 10, 15, 20 years, what would that person look like? How would she respond to change? What would he do? Where would she live? How would he react to crises in his life? What kind of support system would she have? And most important: how can I become that person? These are the questions we need to ask ourselves as we approach the coming years, years that can be the most fulfilling, most joyous and most memorable time of our lives. There are two psalms that I like to think about when I contemplate my growing old years. They reflect on the wide spectrum of ways to grow old. The first, Psalm 102, is the prayer of an exile; it paints a picture of anger, resentment and despair, and is the dominant attitude of those folks on the far left of the scale. It reads: …my days are vanishing like smoke, my bones burn away like a fire. My heart is withered like the grass; I forget to eat my bread; I cry with all my strength; And my skin clings to my bones. I have become like a pelican in the wildernes Like an owl in desolate places. I lie awake and moan, Like some lonely bird on a roof. The next, Psalm 92, shows us a different picture: The just will flourish like the palm tree, And grow like a Lebanon cedar, Planted in the house of the Lord, They will flourish in the courts of our God, Still bearing fruit when they are old, Still full of sap, still green, To proclaim that the Lord is just; In him, my rock there is no wrong. I don’t know about you, but that’s how I want to grow old.
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