Vision
To begin with, I would say that the number-one problem facing older people today is not ageing itself. Linkage of such terms as old and feeble is as out of date as "horse and buggy" or "middy and bloomers." Deteriorating health due to heart disease, arteriosclerosis, cancer, stroke, and other medical causes does of course occur and can and does prove fatal. But such conditions are not limited to those of us who are (as they say) "chronologically gifted."
Don't lay us out in lavender yet; we are just as much alive and (in our way) as vigorous as anybody. In the 1990s we are not "old folks" any more; we are simply folks who are older.
Nor would I way that the biggest problem for us Americans over sixty-five (generally speaking) is a diminished income, or dependence on relatives, or loneliness, or mental depression, or unhappy memories, or fear of death, or any of the other real or imagined personal crises described by those who each year turn out impressive
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studies on ageing. Many of these symptoms may affect us all at one time or another and some of us more than others, but they are (in my opinion) absent from the top of the list.
Not being a gerontologist, I would be sorry if the opinions here expressed seem to run counter to the consensus of professional opinion on matters of ageing, but you see, I am one of those peculiar specimens they are writing about. I do not pretend to be studying the geriatric field; the geriatric field is studying me. And as I leaf through the literature on the subject, I find that all the writers are saying pretty much the same thing: It's a rotten business growing old, and the only certain thing you can say about it is that the longer you're in it, the rottener it gets.
The position I presume to take is diametrically opposed. I say ageing is beautiful. To illustrate, I'm happier now than I ever was as a teenager, or young adult, or middle-aged wage earner. It's true: I can't sprint the way I used to. But as I recall, my sprinting never took me very far. I can't climb to the top of Mount Whitney or Mount Shasta or Mount Fuji or Mauna Kea as I once did, but I don't need to; the slopes I am climbing now are more interesting. I do not pretend to have found the Fountain of Youth, but neither do I lament for the days "when you and I were young, Maggie."
The number-one problem with us older people, as I see it, is a lack of vision. I'm not sure I can fully explain my meaning, but I'm certainly not talking about cataracts! Vision involves a spiritual
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dimension, but there is a material side as well. You may prefer to describe it another way. I'm referring to a picture or a concept of what we think life on earth is about and how we fit into it. Too many of us appear to have spent our lives in a struggle for survival with only a few occasional moments of relief. At first we found we didn't have money enough; later on it developed that we never had enough time. Now that we're older, the excuse is that we lack energy.
But that's silly. Just because we can't hold down two jobs any more and have had to give up racquetball and are not right in the middle of all that's going on, we begin to feel sorry for ourselves. It seems we are doomed by old age either to sit and watch television or — horror of horrors — to think. Because our daily routines have become boring, and kinks have developed in our hips or our elbows, many of us are driven to the conclusion that for us there is no longer any meaning to existence — a conclusion that can sometimes lead to tragic consequences.
My brother-in-law had a dream. He longed to go to the North Woods in upper Minnesota and become a trapper. Instead he sat for thirty-five years in the freight tariff office of the Southern Pacific railroad in San Francisco until one day he died. The father of a friend of mine worked for the United States Weather Bureau in Spokane, Washington, for forty years. He retired and died within a month. A girl I once knew married and remained married for forty-five years. She died the day after her husband's funeral.
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Gerontologists know all about such cases, which could be duplicated by the tens of thousands. Each case has its own particular circumstances. Being an older person, I suspect that in the reports of such deaths a great deal is left out. A well-worn saying has it that we are immortal till our work is done. I would supplement the statement by saying that we are immortal till the vision fades.
Put me in a rocking chair without a vision, and I would languish. Put me in a room full of people sitting in rocking chairs with nothing to do, and I would not last long. If I had to stay there, I would certainly organize something — perhaps a game of "Pictionary" or even a prayer meeting. But give me a vision of something new and challenging God would have me do, something that would fire my spirit, get the élan flowing, and give me an opportunity to use my life to help others, and I will feel as young as I do now, and as I did at forty, the difference being that today I am a lot smarter!
One retiree with a vision to assist others decides to walk the length of the Appalachian Trail. Another pushes his wheelchair across the United States. A third goes to Guatemala and builds houses for poor country folk. A fourth opens a chain of stores.
There is no limit to the potential accomplishments of older people. Michelangelo was still designing churches at age 88. Peter Roget was updating his famous thesaurus when he died at age 90. Leo Tolstoy learned to ride a bicycle at
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age 67 and wrote "I Cannot Be Silent" at 82. Eamonn de Valera served as president of Ireland at 91. Albert Schweitzer was operating his hospital in Lambarene, French Equatorial Africa, at 89. Alexander Graham Bell was still inventing a year before his death at age 75. Thomas Edison produced the telephone at 84. Benjamin Franklin helped in the writing of the United States Constitution when he was 81. Claude Monet began painting his famous Water Lily series at age 76 and finished the work at age 85. Elizabeth Arden managed her cosmetics company through her 85th year. Frank Lloyd Wright designed the Marin County civic center in California at age 88. Leopold Stokowski signed a six-year recording contract at age 94. Pianist Arthur Rubinstein performed professionally until he was 90. Pablo Casals was playing the cello at age 96 and George Bernard Shaw was writing plays at age 91. And at age 100 Grandma Moses was still painting pictures, while another centenarian, Tesichi Igarishi, celebrated his 100 years by climbing to the 12,395-foot high summit of Mount Fuji.
When Georges Clemenceau took the leadership of France in 1917 during World War I, he was 76. Winston Churchill was called to head the British government in World War II at age 66. He wrote "A History of the English-speaking Peoples" at age 82. Charles de Gaulle was elected president of France at 69, the same age as Ronald Reagan when he became the fortieth American president. Amos Alonzo Stagg, who retired at 70 as football coach at the University
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of Chicago, the next year became coach of a small California college (now the University of the Pacific). He produced a winning team, was named Coach of the Year, and was still a coaching advisor at age 98. He died in 1965 at 102.
Vision! It comes from an understanding that life is intended for something, and that something is good. It is to be used. When we stop using it we begin to fall apart. The strength of body muscles is extirpated by disuse, and the same can be said of the thews and sinews of the soul.
By this time you may have dismissed me as a religious freak who is about to sell you a particular set of life-changing teachings and who wants primarily your mailing address. Well, I am a Christian. The New Testament tells me that God put us human beings on this planet not to suffer or starve or kill each other, but to help each other. The old Westminster Shorter Catechism, in a fine burst of inspiration, declared that "the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever." Each of us was placed here to enjoy God, to accept His salvation, and to delight ourselves in the marvelous things He has provided for us on this unique whirling ball we call Earth.
At this point some reader is sure to raise some theological questions: "If we live in such a wonderful environment, how did it get so fouled up? Look at all the destruction that has taken place in the twentieth century! If God intended humanity to be good, why did He introduce sin? How can you talk about 'vision' when for so many
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people in the world — and that includes old people — life is a nightmare?"
Being a theological lightweight, I shall not undertake to resolve the "mystery of iniquity"1 in this or any other book. Many have attempted to do so. I am quite sure there is a Devil and am equally sure he would love to get me into his tentacles. As a young newspaperman working in southeastern Alaska, it was never my remotest intention to become an evangelical Christian. When I finally began to open the Bible, the doctrine of original sin was the first and only teaching that appealed to my understanding. For seven years the "fields of sin" had been my reporter's beat. When I read Chesterton's tongue-in-cheek statement that "original sin . . . is the only part of Christian theology which can really be proved,"2 I knew I had found a kindred spirit.
My own life as a youth was a verification of that doctrine, for I was totally self-centered. When I came to recognize my condition, and properly labeled it "my fault, my own fault, my own most grievous fault," it was not difficult for me to reach out and accept the help that was available. I became convinced that Jesus Christ died on the Cross for my sins. Now the question arose: Could anything be made out of my hitherto ingrown uselessness? To that point all I had done as a journalist was to report in the public press what other people had accomplished or failed to accomplish. The Bible gave me to understand that God could really do something with my life, but only if I gave it away — as Jesus did.
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Such a transition was anything but easy. In the past half-century I have been taught some hard lessons. I have been forced to crawl through some low tunnels and to eat a few tons of crow. I continue to be harassed by an ego that insists on priority status. But the vision of usefulness that Jesus imparted has never left me.
Having passed fourscore years, I find that the vision is what gives old age its splendor. It can turn wrinkles into beautiful smiles, senility into seniority, and slowness of speech into wisdom. It can change complaining spirits into prayer warriors. It can suffuse the gradual process of ageing with dignity, and so attract the admiration and affection of younger people. Can you imagine what a thrill it is when someone says to you, "When I get old, I would like to be like you"? Ah, if they only knew! But the vision is always there.
This book differs from almost all the current books in print about ageing. It has no prescriptions, no recipes, no professional advice. These chapters are dedicated to telling you not that old age ought to be the best time of your life, but that it will be the best. As the vision takes hold of you and gives you direction, God will write a new chapter in your biography — a chapter you never dreamed was possible. You will find that God is a Master Host: He serves dessert. He saves the sweets for the end of the banquet, the best for the last — the last for which the first was made.
How do I know all this? Because God's Word declares it. Listen to these words:
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The righteous will flourish like a palm tree, they will grow like a cedar of Lebanon; planted in the house of the Lord, they will flourish in the courts of our God. They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green.
(Psalm 92:12-14, italics added)
Throughout its sixty-six books the Bible testifies to the richness of the ageing process. It honors and reveres the elderly and uses them as examples of godly living. What would Christianity be without our patriarchs — Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob? Scripture tells us that advanced years teach wisdom and understanding, that older men and women should be honored and respected, that they have great contributions still to make to society.
I have another reason for believing that old age is the best time of life. It is what happened to me. Ask me whether life is better at eighty than it was at forty. Ask me whether I am more in tune with the environment, more appreciative of my blessings, more delighted at what each day brings, more interested in what I am doing than I was when I was younger. Ask me whether the vision is as strong now as it was when it first came to me.
Back in the 1920s and 1930s we got our entertainment listening to the radio: Eddie Cantor, Fred Allen, Jack Benny. One program had a character named after Baron Munchhausen, who, when challenged, defended his amazing
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statements by asking, "Voss you dere, Sharlie?" Perhaps my testimony about vision in old age sounds tinny or hollow. Perhaps you think I am laying on the lard too thick, that I am just another liar. Well, ask me, and I will counter with "Voss you dere?"
Bumper stickers keep informing us that "happiness is being a grandparent." Grandchildren are certainly a blessing; in our house their affection always gives us a lift. Real inner joy, however, does not stem from dependence on relationships with other individuals, not even grandchildren. It comes from a vision of what life is for and the translation of that vision into reality. It does not derive from Social Security or Medicare, great as these helps are to retirement. It derives from an acknowledgment that the Creator of the universe is our Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is His Son, and that we belong to Him forever.
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1. See 2 Thess. 2:7.
2. G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy (Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1959), 15.
