"Well, Happy Birthday! How old are you anyway?" "Oh, I'm just 29 again." It's a harmless game, denying our age, right? We play sensitive about our age as we get older, as we get further away from birth and closer to death. It's just a way to share our unease of growing older with people around us. Try as we might, time marches on and we get older just the same. I was reminded about this when I recently read that we are now seven million years old. That's at least a million years older than we were just one year ago. Of course, that does not mean you or I personally aged a million years in the past 365 days. That would be either a horror movie or the work of a genius. An early human skull found in the Sahara Desert is 7 million years old, pushing "the start of human evolution back at least another million years." For you and me, age is important. Denying one's age, or even being sensitive about it, can be disabling. Our years, our lines, our scars are part of who we are. They should be a matter of comfort and pride. Happiness eludes us when we feel embarrassed, guilty, or shy about who we are. It's time for each of us to take pride again in everything we are. Try saying something like this: "I am pushing 40 (or whatever age applies to you). I have lived 40 years. I have survived 40 years. I have experienced 40 years. I have learned from 40 years. (I have much more to learn, so God, please let me live another 40!) I have thrived, mostly, during 40 years. And I am proud of every one of those years." Once upon a time, the elders of the village were revered. They bore both knowledge and wisdom. Now we settle for just knowledge. The elders carried traditions down from generations. Now we just create brand new "traditions". The elders were our leaders. Now we downsize them. Youth has its own beauty, its own advantages, its own reasons to be admired. So, too, does middle age. In fact, every age is important and every age is beautiful. How old are you right now? (Really, I don't mean "29 again".) Whatever age you are, right now that is the perfect age -- and the perfect age to be proud of. Oh sure, it is sort of harmless to kid about one's age. And many people joke about it harmlessly. But many of us also have a deep unease about our age and our aging -- an unease that can hold back our self-esteem. I recall sitting in my pew when it suddenly dawned on me why one member of the all-female choir looked so different. Every lady was at least 40 years old, but the other heads were jet black or honey brown or sandy blonde or some other artificial tint. White Top Lady packed a loaded bundle of white hair. It is not a sin to dye one's hair, as long as we don't do it during the service. It is just one of many ways we adorn ourselves. But the sight of a dozen elderly ladies with hair colors impossible for their age made me want to laugh out loud right there in church. (I resisted.) All the heads would probably have looked normal if White Top Lady's hair had not been screaming out, "I'm proud of my color. I'm proud of my age. I'm not going to hide." It's time to be proud of everything about ourselves, including our age. So to everybody reading this, "Happy Seven Millionth!" |
