“Time, like an ever rolling stream, soon bears us all away.  We fly, forgotten, as a dream dies at the opening day.  O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come.  Be Thou our guide while life shall last, and our eternal home.”

What is lasting…what is lost…

I just arrived home from a youth service trip to St. Louis which we were able to take since we get a week off from school for Mardi Gras in Louisiana.  On the 11-hour ride home in a 22-year-old, 15-passenger van with no A/C and no tape deck with the cigarette lighter powering a small portable fan in the third row of the van, we listened to more radio than I have listened to since I was a sophomore in high school.  Several members in the van love country music so I was introduced to today’s country hits.  Truth be told, I haven’t listened to country music much since I was in college in Oklahoma when Garth Brooks and Randy Travis still ruled the air waves, and to be honest, I was pleasantly surprised.  Compared to the vacuous and often sexually explicit lyrics of a Katy Perry or Rihanna, I felt oddly empowered and adored when listening to country.  Of the lyrics I caught, it seems that most of the women enjoy running around barefoot in the country shooting things and what they hate most are boyfriends who cheat on them.  Concerning the men, although they may drink too much whiskey and drive their trucks too fast, they do like to tell ladies that they’re pretty and they willingly offer to love you to the end of time.  My politics and perspective tend to veer at this point, but overall, how refreshing.

“She was a million dollar babe in a five and dime store…”

A perfect opening line to a country melody, but, in fact, how Mr. G. begins his story of how he first met Mrs. R. over 72 years ago. At 95, he speaks of that day as if it were yesterday, and though R.’s short term memory evaporates before her, she smiles.  Our youth group members smiled as well, since who doesn’t want to believe that someday, at 95 years old, our spouse could not only still be alive but could speak with quiet wonder and deep affection of first meeting us decades ago.  In the midst of working in soup kitchens and shelters, our youth group stopped by a St. Louis area nursing home to visit a retired former minister of the church and his wife.

G. continued, “I am 95 and I hope to be 95.”  He looked into the eyes of our group and talked of sermons he has preached, how he tries to read at least one book a week, and how he enjoys corresponding via e-mail, but most of all, of his faith and his love for his wife.  “We’ve been married 72 years and I don’t think I’ve loved her more than I have in the last few years.”  He turned to our teenagers and spoke of love, and how easy it is to mistake the flutters of affection for lasting love.  “I have learned that love means sacrificing yourself for the other person.  As I look back on my life, I am humbled to see that I was at my best when she was living for me.”  I thought of Dr. George Vaillet’s analysis in Aging Well and his description of those seniors who fall into the “happy/well” category: people who continue learning, continue making friends, continue making sense of their past in light of their present and future tend to age successfully.

“Successful aging means giving to others joyously whenever one is able, receiving from others gratefully whenever one needs it, and being greedy enough to develop one’s own sense of self in between.” (61)

And aging in relationship will eventually mean caregiving. A recent article in the Chicago Tribune highlights the growing trend in men caring for impaired loved ones.  They trace the story of Herbert and Ruth, both former pediatricians in the Hyde Park neighborhood, as Ruth suffers from dementia, Herbert cares for her everyday needs, and they undergo a move in with their son and his family:

“As his wife began to lose the ability to communicate or care for herself, Herbert Lerner dutifully cooked and fed her.  He dressed her for the day and took her to the bathroom…

“This is the person you love,” Lerner said.  “You’re not going to abandon somebody you love after 60 years.”

What is lasting…what is lost…

One thing I love about service trips is that I am forced to lose my illusions.  In my world, it is easy to presume that my safety nets of family, friends, income, health, and mental capacity are entitlements and not blessings, blessings that can be lost.  Serving those who have lost due to addiction, mental illness, hardship, even choice, forces me to be grateful for my safety nets and reminds me to use my excess to be a safety net for others.  We concluded our trip with worship on Ash Wednesday; the dark ashes on our foreheads a much needed reminder of our mortality:

“Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”

I imagine that we all long for a love that will last; one that will withstand the times when we are sick or weak or demented, when we hope that that the memory of all that we have been can trump the reality of who we are now.  But in truth, only God’s love lasts.

The men’s chancel choir at Union Avenue Christian Church intoned the words of CH Puday’s “Lead, Kindly Light,”

“Lead, kindly light, amid the circling gloom, lead me on; the night is dark, and I am far from home…Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see the distant sea; one step enough for me.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it will lead me on o’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone, and with the morn those angel faces smile, which I have loved long since and lost awhile.”

What is lasting…what is lost…

Categories: Aging, Disability, Death, Dying

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