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. Time, Like an Ever Rolling Stream, Verse 4
I just arrived home from a youth service trip to St. Louis. On the 11-hour ride home in a 22-year-old, 15-passenger van with no A/C and no tape deck, and 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 today's pop music, 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. The men may drive their trucks too fast, but they 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.
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.
"She was a million dollar babe in a five and dime store..."
A perfect opening line to a country melody, but, in this case, how Mr. G. begins his story of meeting Mrs. R. over 72 years ago. At 95, he speaks of that day as if it were yesterday, and though Mrs. R.'s short term memory evaporates before her, she smiles. Our youth group members smile as well. Who doesn't want to believe that someday, at 95 years old, their spouse could not only be alive, but could also speak with quiet wonder and deep affection of first meeting them, decades ago. But Mr. G. made it clear that joy is not limited to the past or to when we are young; every year of life should be lived fully, whether 5 or 35 or 95. Mr. G. continued, "I am 95 and I am glad to be 95." He looked into the eyes of our group and talked of sermons he had preached, how he tries to read at least one book a week, and how he enjoys corresponding via e-mail. Most of all, however, he speaks 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, a book that chronicles and reflects upon the findings of three groundbreaking prospective studies that assessed and interviewed individuals for six to eight decades. On page 13, he lists the common traits they found that tended to lead to being considered "happy/well" at age 80:
Successful aging often means growing old in a relationship that eventually leads to caregiving. Sunday's Chicago Tribune highlighted 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.
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, aging, even choice, forces me to be grateful for my safety nets and reminds me to use my excess as a safety net for others. 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 the memory of all that we have been can trump the reality of become.
The men's chancel choir at Union Avenue Christian Church closed the service intoning the words of CH Purday'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.
Safety nets, grace for today, and the heart to care over the span of a lifetime is good news indeed.