Shouldn't I be looking forward to the end of my life?
From the Dashboard >
I don’t like it. In fact, it really bothers me. While I don’t think I’m alone in those negative feelings, I do have guilt over having them. In my mind it seems like it’s something I shouldn’t struggle with as a Christian. But I do.
I don’t like getting older.
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Just so we’re clear, this isn’t a vanity thing. Obviously, no one is a fan of seeing more lines on their face or experiencing the annoying effects of a slowed metabolism. I don’t know a single person who enjoys developing sunspots, sprouting gray hair, or having the unsettling feeling every time they have discomfort that it might be something dreadfully serious. But I’m serious when I say that isn’t the part of aging that has been bothering me.
A few days ago, Jenny and I were sitting by each other in the family room. I was working on my computer while she had her phone out. All of a sudden she leaned over and said, “Our kids are so big now.” She had opened the photos app on her phone, and it automatically started playing a montage of our son Grayson through the years. Apparently there is some kind of feature on the iPhone that is automatically set to the, “Please make me weep with nostalgia every time I open this app” setting. We looked at the pictures for awhile, but even when she put her phone away, I kept thinking about it long after.
I remember when they would ride in the wagon. I remember their cute little voices, the way they would be so proud to show me some picture they had drawn, the way they would sit mesmerized looking up at cartoons at the TV. I remember each one of them asking if either Jenny or I (or if both of us) would come in and lay with them at night as they went to sleep. I remember laying there watching tornado videos on YouTube with Addie, or with Bristol it was always montage videos of people falling down (she’s always had a problem).
It's knowing that those days are gone and never coming back that really bothers me. I would do anything to have just one more day with them at that age. Just one more day to carry them to the car and strap them into their car seat, one more day to hear them scream, “Daddy’s home” when I come walking in the door, one more day of their little hands holding onto my finger as we walk into church. But it’s not going to happen, and that’s really hard for me to get over.
Beyond just that, I’m 46. By any objective measure, even if I were to live a long and healthy life, I’m over halfway done. That is so hard to process. I don’t feel old yet, but it just dawned on me yesterday that my 30th high school reunion is coming up in just a couple years. I specifically remember hearing people talk about their 20th, 30th, or 40th class reunions and those people were so old! Now it’s me talking about it.
On the one hand, I’m confident that these kinds of feelings are pretty normal. Heck, it’s what prompts a lot of people into having a mid-life crisis. Personally, I don’t have any plans to don a leather jacket, color my hair, leave my wife, or buy a Ferrari.
But on the other hand, I have really been feeling guilty about all these feelings for one reason: I’m a Christian. Christians shouldn’t have such feelings, right? We should be ecstatic about the imminent end of life on this earth so that we can be with our Savior. We should regard each day as yet another day in exile as we await our glorious homecoming. How can I not be anxious about the end of these tortured days and the beginning of the abundant, unimaginably full and favored eternity in heaven?
When I give it serious thought, I realize that in fact I am anxious and excited about those things. And here’s something that does give me comfort – I know that once I am there, I believe with all my heart I wouldn’t exchange them for anything, including any memory or moment here on Earth. But what’s the solution for me right now? How can I take captive my thoughts of sadness and disappointment that the days here are so fleeting?
Here's what the Apostle Paul writes:
Therefore we do not give up. Even though our outer person is being destroyed, our inner person is being renewed day by day. For our momentary light affliction is producing for us an absolutely incomparable eternal weight of glory. So we do not focus on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.
2 Corinthians 4:16-18
Two realities stare me in the face when I read that. First, my old body is being destroyed. Destroyed by wear and tear, stress, as well as physical and mental fatigue. No matter how remarkable these created machines are, they are in a state of degrading. It’s why just a few verses before those words, Paul referred to us as “jars of clay.” Brittle, breakable, and breaking. Even those people with the most money, who get the most surgeries, who replace the most things on their degrading body will eventually lose the war. They’ll likely look a little silly in the process too.
The second truth there is that even though our outer body is being decimated by the effects of a sin-cursed world, our inner person – in Christ – is being renewed daily. As one “ages” in Christ, the more fully they come to trust Him, lean confidently on His promises, and live not for the perishable, but the imperishable.
As my memories accumulate, I’m tempted towards sadness at what has been. But as a believer, my faith is being perfected, and I can look forward to what will be.
You hit everything I have felt. Excellent summation.