I pick things up and put them down

Last weekend I drove to Baltimore and helped my daughter move to a new apartment. I am excited for her as this is the first time she will have lived alone for numerous years, and she is looking forward to it. I’ve helped her move several times through the years. It’s kind of interesting to note various stylistic changes in décor I’ve transferred from one house to another. Also fascinating is the value of items as her income has grown through the years. I suppose that would be an exciting chronicle for any of our lives.

Of course, she was not moving to a first-floor apartment, and it was destined that Saturday was one of the hottest, most humid days of the summer. I was sweating profusely just thinking about carrying a chair out of the house. As we moved back and forth from each location, I located the most powerful air conditioning units and parked my soggy body in front of the vents as long as possible.

Andrea recruited numerous friends to assist with the two-and-a-half block trek to the new location. These were young, strong, good-looking folks with lots of energy. It was clear to me from the outset that I would be a minor assistant in this process. I used to be young, strong, and, well, reasonable looking. Whatever happened to that!

I helped load a few small items into cars and SUVs. I don’t think SUVs were invented the last time I moved. Nor was it imperative that the modem be installed immediately so that the Monday workday would not be interrupted.  Modem?  When did that become a necessity?  The last time we transferred my items to a new location, “rabbit ears” were high-tech.

At one point, the group decided that it would be good for each of us to carry one small piece of furniture two blocks up the hill and then up the stairs to her new home. This method would save time since there was not enough pick-up truck space. I finally located the lightest piece of furniture I could find. It was a rolling desk chair which I threw over my shoulder and started walking. By the time I reached the apartment, I was nearly crawling. I pushed it the last half-block. If only it had been downhill so I could have sat and rolled the entire distance. There was no way I was carrying the item up the stairs, so I placed the chair onto her quaint, shaded front porch and plopped down in it. From this vantage point, I could just pray for the folks who were actually doing the work. This made great sense to me. There were no injuries, so my strategy must have worked.

After a while, I slowly climbed the stairs and found an air conditioner. I am confident the Holy Spirit was blowing sweet cool air into my lungs as I stood directly in front of the window unit. The refreshing ventilation kept me from keeling over dead right there in front of everyone and hold up the move.

Honestly, I was quietly embarrassed.  I lifted weights and jogged most of my life. I was strong and considered picking things up and putting them down a glorious challenge. I was never a hot weather afficionado but working up a good sweat was manly.

Don’t get me wrong. I love my daughter’s friends and enjoy spending time with them, but I am now more proficient at what happened next.  The move was completed, so we headed out for pizza and wings.  Yes! God has answered my prayers. My reservations lifted as I knew this moving phase would be something I can still do well.

We ended up on the deck of a wonderful young couple and several friends. Pizza in hand, I now got the chance to do what I do well at this age – eat, listen, laugh and talk.

And here is where my silent anguish of age melted into sweet joy.

At age 66, I don’t “feel” mentally old. I feel more intellectually acute and discerning than any time my entire life. I like to do much of what I always enjoyed, but maybe not as physical. I laugh more than ever, and not much rattles me or surprises me. It’s a comfortable sense of pleasure. I’m not very concerned about what people think of me, and comparison is a thing of the past.

What’s more, most younger people treat me with inherent respect. I did not anticipate being treated like a sage at this age. I am often asked for advice. It feels like many young people sense I have wise thoughts. They admire perseverance and the fruit it bears in a person of age. That’s kind of nice! I’m probably pretty good at explaining what not to do since I’ve made nearly every mistake one can enact.

I did not expect this turn of events in this chapter of my short existence, but I like and appreciate it. I’ll let God determine my wisdom level, and I’ll keep asking Him to help me keep my mouth shut when prudent and speak with some brevity. I’ll ask Him to help me keep laughing. Laughter is a salve on much pain and opens the door of relationships like oil on a hinge.

So, I’ll keep helping my daughters move with three caveats. First floor only. Lower than 80 degrees. Pizza & Wings.

Each season of life has benefits, pitfalls, and unique characteristics. Some will be remembered for tragedy, others ecstasy. Wisdom can be discovered at any age, but it tends to grow through experience. At my age, I find myself frequently ruminating, “Been there, done that, have a closet full of t-shirts to prove it. I don’t want to do that again! Love to enjoy that once more.”

A bit of advice. Enjoy whatever season you are experiencing. Do your best not to let tragedy or crisis define your existence or destroy your faith. This, too, shall pass. Things often don’t turn out as planned, but that does not mean they are losses. One day all the episodes you’ve gathered will be like the contents of a large suitcase you take on vacation. You will arrive at a new destination, settle in your room, and open the luggage. Inside, you will find what you need to start another new adventure. And it will be good!

“Youth may be admired for vigor, but gray hair gives prestige to old age.” (Proverbs 20:29 The Message)

Live Inspired!

Don Mark