When settling for less might be the best

 I hate that feeling at the end of the day when I re-read the to-do list I optimistically wrote that morning and realize all the items I can’t check off. It seems there’s usually some story I didn’t get written, some person I didn’t go see, a phone call I didn’t make, a meeting I forgot to attend, etc., etc.

I’m a genetic list-maker. It’s in my blood. I not only have to-to lists and grocery lists, I have lists of books I hope to read, favorite words, prayer requests, priorities, and on it goes. It’s how I stay organized. But I’m finding the system doesn’t work for me as well as it used to. Especially that to-do list. After I write it, I sometimes forget about it for the rest of the day. Then in the evening I wrestle with frustration at all I didn’t do.

Hal is even more intense than I am. His to-do list is impossibly long and his end-of-the-day laments more soulful. Some evenings we make pathetic music.

OK. I’m exaggerating a little. But only a little. Frustration with not getting enough done is part of life these days.

In my younger days, I took pride in all the stuff I got done in a single day. I was a master multitasker, juggling all sorts of balls—education, family, job, writing assignments. I even put free-time on the list. People would ask me, “Nancy, how do you manage to get so much done?”

It’s a cultural theme, something built into our society, something rewarded and recognized. I have a book on my shelf actually titled Getting Stuff Done. It presents a rather rigorous system that even I couldn’t faithfully follow, although it did help me get my files organized. Time management has become a cultural science, almost a religion to some.

Somewhere along the way, I seem to have adopted the slogan “Never settle for less than your best.” The “best” includes, of course, getting that to-do list all checked off. And every task completed with excellence. Of course.

Just writing all this down makes me tired. I find myself doubting the wisdom behind it all.

Actually, I’m not as rigid about getting stuff done as I’ve portrayed myself here. The two sides of my personality—the left-brain analytical get-stuff-done side and the playful, intuitive, poetry-writing side—are fairly equally balanced. It’s the playful side that’s kept me sane. I need to remember that now. And value it.

I’ve suggested to Hal that if he had a shorter to-do list, he might be more satisfied at the end of the day. I’m realizing that I need to heed my own advice. I think what I’m going to do is make a list (here I go again!) of all the things I would like to do and that I could work on when I have the time and inclination. I’ll post it above my desk. And then I’ll keep my daily list short. As short as possible.

In the case of to-do lists and pressures to get stuff done, maybe settling for less is the best way to go. This sounds like a good idea now in the retirement phase of life—to loosen the ties of the lists and relax the pressure to perpetual excellence.

Long ago I discerned that God has given me three priorities in life. (Here it comes—another list! But a short one.) My priorities are prayer, poetry, and people. Simple. (The fact that they all begin with the letter “p” helps me remember them.) These are more an orientation toward life than a to-do list.

I won’t stop making lists, not with my current tendency to forget meetings and deadlines unless I have a written reminder. I’ll just try to make my daily list shorter and more playful. Maybe add to the list stuff like “laugh-out-loud at least once” and “hug Hal more than once.” How about “enjoy my morning coffee” and “look attentively at something beautiful.” Yes. I could check those off every evening. Happily. That doesn’t seem at all like “settling for less.”

Still open to dazzle

 None of us want to become obsolete, although it does seem at times that life is passing us by. New discoveries, new songs, new fashions, new ways of being in the world surround us. And our kids and grandkids get it. Take an obvious example—technology. I love what my computer does for me and I’ve explored the Internet, to a certain extent. But when something goes wrong or when I need help to find something out there in cyberspace, I have to call on my grandson. Because he knows. I don’t.

And I’m glad for it. Those of us with grown kids and grandkids want them to be able to surpass us. We want them to travel down roads we didn’t know existed. We gladly pass the torch to the next generation and ask them for help when we need it. We’re glad for all that, aren’t we? At least most of the time.

My kids have gone beyond me in many areas, including spiritually. The image of the old wise elder going on before, showing the way, is maybe sort of true. But not completely. Both my son and my daughter are experiencing spiritual discovery and growth that almost seem exponential. Some of the grandkids are following the same path. It delights us, their parents. It also makes us somewhat nostalgic.

I remember in our young adult years, and even up into middle age, all that we were discovering and experiencing about the work of the Holy Spirit, spiritual gifts, ministries of healing, and so on. We believed in miracles and prayed huge fantastic prayers. We became lost in the wonder of worship. It was beyond exciting.

Oh, we came down for air often. Life on the spiritual heights is not sustainable for long periods of time. But the mountain of new spiritual experience was there and we were believers.

We did, indeed, suffer a few extremes that needed tempering. I remember a book a small group of us were reading about the ministry of exorcism, new territory for us. I believe the title of the book was Pigs in the Parlor, and it focused on demonic activity even in local churches. It taught us our authority in Christ and how to cast out demons.

Sound scary? It was. But we took it all to heart and began to practice, first of all on each other. We discovered new freedom from fears and traumas from the past. But I think we took the whole thing too far. For a time, we were finding and casting out demons everywhere.

For me, it all came to a stop one afternoon on the Bolivian altiplano. We were participating in a small church gathering of rural believers. The teacher, a local pastor and good friend of ours, was giving an early afternoon sermon. A little old lady, sitting on the ground in the front row, had gone to sleep. A normal thing for an older person to do after lunch. But Pastor Germán wasn’t going to put up with it. So, in a loud voice that startled the poor lady awake, he cast out the demon of sleep.

At that moment something popped in my brain. “This is ridiculous!” I said to myself. And it was. That dear woman was no more demon possessed than the blanket she sat on. From that point on, Hal and I began to pull back and apply some rationality and common sense to all that we had been learning and experiencing.

Now in my latter years, I find that I still believe in a God who heals. I even believe in the ages-old Christian ministry of exorcism when that’s appropriate and necessary. I still believe in miracles, but I prefer the more hidden everyday kind, the ones you miss unless you’re very attentive.

But our kids are on a different path of discovery and I think they’re traveling with more wisdom than we had. And, like I said, it all makes me a little nostalgic. Excitement is fun, if you have the energy for it.

A few months ago, I was preparing for a doctor’s appointment. My doctor had been experimenting with different drugs to help alleviate the condition I had been suffering [see last week’s blog]. I wrote this “Pre-Appointment Prayer,” wrestling with some of my faith/healing/miracles questions.

Pre-Appointment Prayer

I used to think miracle meant
water to wine,
weather control on a massive scale,
taking tea on the lake without benefit of a boat.
In order to be legitimate,
miracle had to thunder, blaze,
astonish and dumbfound.
Nothing short of amazing would do.

Now my imagination has simmered down
and my prayers for healing
are less demanding. I’m willing
for miracle to mean the discovery
of a medication that helps.
I’m OK with a lightening
of the symptoms without knowing
the causes. Mild miracles might
be within faith’s grasp these days.

In other words, I’m willing to settle.
But, and please hear this,
I’m open to dazzle.

Willing to settle but open to miracle. That’s me these days. I wonder if my tempered spirituality is a sign of a wise old age. Or is it a signal that I need a new out-pouring of the Holy Spirit? Or maybe both?

I do know that I’m not willing to settle for obsolete. Maybe it’s time to follow my kids.

The making of an old soul

 I recently read a book by Carol Orsborn called, The Making of an Old Soul. I was drawn to the title by association with another book, The Diary of an Old Soul (1880), a devotional book of poetry by one of my favorite authors, George MacDonald. MacDonald’s fairy tales have been a source of joy for years; one of those books led to CS Lewis’s conversion to Christianity. So if MacDonald identified himself as a “old soul,” I was open to the idea.

I had the mental picture of an old soul as someone old (naturally), wise, and kind. White-headed, of course. But a simple dictionary definition tells me that an old soul is “someone who is wise and thoughtful beyond their years,” no matter how old they are. A young child could have the eyes of an old soul.

The subtitle of Orsborn’s book shows her understanding of an old soul: Aging as the Fulfillment of Life’s Promises. That subtitle gave me pause, wondering if this was another pollyannaish book on how wonderful is it to be old and wise. That pause almost came to a full stop as I read in the prelude that “At last, everything makes sense…. We have, in fact, burst through age to freedom.” The realist in me wonders if that is even possible; the cynic just snickers.

But I decided to give Orsborn a chance and I read the book. I’m glad I did. I found it interesting, thought-provoking, and, if not transformative, at least hopeful. While I take her conclusions with a grain of salt, I appreciate the chance to wrestle with the ideas.

In most of the book, Orsborn takes us through the different life stages in spiritual/psychological development, following her own 11 stages in what she calls the Arc of Life. She begins before birth where the pre-born person is united with God. This is an old idea. I remember reading in high school William Wordsworth’s long poem, “Intimations of Immorality” (“The child is the father of the man” and so on). It’s an interesting concept which I don’t intend to discuss here. 

Orsborn takes us from birth, the original and most profound trauma of separation from the mother’s womb--and from God. “Being born hurts … one’s first reaction upon expulsion from the womb is to howl,” she comments. We then travel through the stages of forming our identity, adopting masks to hide aspects of ourselves we don’t like, recognizing and discarding the masks, etc., etc. It’s very interesting, with some good insights. 

Finally, according to her theory, we reach the beginnings of old age. This is the part of the book where I begin to pay attention. The author names this stage "The Void." One looks back on life and wonders where the dreams went and if it was worth it all. 

Probably most of us confront these thoughts to some degree, some people more than others. She writes, “It is the dissonance between our expectations and our outcomes, both in regard to what we expect of the world, but also, and more to the point, what we expect of ourselves, that causes the pain….” This is the stage of crisis, of looking our past losses fully in the face. Orsborn writes, “And now you are once again at a crossroads with a new choice to make: Will you choose despair, or will you choose freedom?”

Then comes the stage of "Conscious Aging." This was a new term to me. Actually, it’s the title of a movement, The Conscious Aging Movement, and Carol Orsborn is one of the key players of the movement, devoting her blog to the topic. If we want to advance to the ultimate stage of becoming an old soul, this Conscious Aging stage is time to choose, to “confront and then clear away the debris of regret, victimhood, blame, self-doubt, and all manner of misunderstanding from your path.” Sound good to me, at any stage.

To help that happen we enter the stage of "The Big Reveal." In order to progress in spiritual development, we need “something more” than our own efforts. Orsborn calls that “something more” God. (I was relieved to read that as there had been scant mention of the divine so far.) The Reveal is a mystical experience that surprises us and allows us to finally understand the mystery of our life. The grown-up infant finally gets reunited with God.

Orsborn had that experience herself during the pandemic while she was disconsolately wandering through a cemetery. Suddenly, she was overwhelmed with the sense of the beauty and goodness of the world, as well as her own personal beauty and worth. It changed her life, she writes. So she went on to make this a normative experience. 

I have a problem with that. I’ve had some fairly substantial moments of insight, along with a lot of little experiences. And they’ve happened throughout my life, not just on the cusp of old age. 

Finally, if we’ve made it this far (and not everyone does—in fact, the society of old souls is not large), we are now an old soul. “You’ll know you made it to the world of old souls when things that once caused you pain or compulsion no longer carry the power to devastate.” That sounds like a good mark of emotional maturity. 

In describing herself as an inhabitant of the “world of old souls,” Orsborn says, “What was the essence of this new experience of myself in relation to the world? It was that I was ordinary. And what’s more, my ordinary self was sufficient.” Life in this land is not free of difficulties, she informs us. We’re still human, and old age is not easy, but now we have the freedom to hold those difficulties lightly. 

Congratulations if you’ve made it through his book review. I found much that was positive, along with stuff that I’m not altogether sure about. Some of what she says about old souls sounds like growing to maturity, to put it simply. (Or not. Is growth to maturity simple?) Orsborn makes no claims to be a Christian and the lack of the work of the Holy Spirit of Christ is a void in the book. But that doesn’t mean there’s not value or truth to be found.

One of my conclusions is that I am not an old soul. At least not yet. I’m a project in the making. On the level of faith, St. Paul tells us that as we look to Christ, little by little, from glory to glory, we are being changed into the image of Christ (2 Corinthians 3:18). I’m fine with the little-by-little part as I grow older. And more than fine with the hope of becoming like Jesus. 

As to whether or not I’m an official old soul, well, I’m not going to worry about it. 

Benefits of the aging brain

 The title of this blog seems counter-intuitive. It's almost contradictory. The phrase “aging brain” naturally brings to mind terms like “cognitive impairment” (nasty scary phrase), decline, dementia, or, at the least, forgetfulness and “senior moments.” But benefits? Is the aging brain in some ways superior to the young or middle-aged brain?

That’s what Ashton Applewhite, author of This Chair Rocks: A Manifesto Against Ageism, claims. At the beginning of her chapter on “The Older Brain”, she makes several affirmations:

--“Serious mental decline is not a normal or inevitable part of aging.”
--“Most forgetfulness is not Alzheimer’s, or dementia, or even necessarily a sign of cognitive impairment.”
--“About 20 percent of people in their nineties seem to escape cognitive decline entirely, and continue to perform as well as middle-aged people.”

Applewhite recognizes the realities of cognitive decline and dementia, something that causes fear in most of us. She also admits to what she calls “basic brain aging.” This refers to things like a decreasing ability to recall names or numbers on demand. It seems to getting harder to find the right words or remember where we left our glasses. Missing appointments happens more often. I’m no longer able to multitask like I did when I was a younger more productive woman. It’s easier to be distracted; I notice this when I try to contemplate or pray. All of this happens.

So, what are the benefits of the aging brain? Applewhite devotes most of the chapter to the following positive traits (that I sincerely hope are true):

--The aging brain is more emotionally resilient. She writes that “As we turn eighty, brain imaging shows frontal lobe changes that improve our ability to deal with negative emotions like anger, envy, and fear.” Apparently we have less social anxiety and fewer social phobias. “Even as its discrete processing skills degrade, the normal aging brain enables greater emotional maturity, adaptability to change, and levels of well-being.”

I can see that. While I still experience negative emotions and what I consider immature reactions to situations, in general I’m more at ease with my life. I used to be painfully shy, even into my middle years, but now I’m freer to speak up, hold my own in a group discussion, and even assume leadership roles. Sometime I look at myself and am amazed. And when I experience those angry or envious feelings, I recognize them, tell myself to “snap out of it and grow up!” Sometimes I listen to myself. (Sometimes I don’t.)

--“Brain changes can boost creativity.” Grandma Moses is a case in point. She didn’t start painting until her older years. Several friends have also discovered a talent for painting since they retired. I know I’ve never been as creatively active, but I also know I’ve never had so much time for writing, painting, or playing my guitar. Is leisure time the cause of my creative burst? Partly, of course. Is it also the benefit of my artistically aging brain? I’d like to think so.

-- Aging gives one the ability to use both sides of the brain. Now that idea fascinates me. When I was younger, I was good at school stuff (reading, writing, and even arithmetic, believe it or not) but I also loved to write poetry and dream up imaginary countries. So was I a left brain (reason) person or was I right brain (intuition)? I was told it had to be predominately one or the other.. Applewhite writes that “A 2001 brain imaging study out of Duke University showed that while younger subjects relied predominantly on one side of the brain or the other (depending on the task), older people began to use both sides in a more synchronized way.” Interesting. She means both at once, an ability to draw on both reason and intuition when facing a situation. Again, that’s something I’d like to think was true. True integration of personality. Sounds wholesome.

--“The older brain has access to more information.”  That seems logical, as long as we can remember all the information we have access to. Her application of this idea borders on hilarious. She says that “When a word or phrase takes time to come to mind, the pause may reflect not decline but mental processes at work. According to a growing number of studies, the apparent lapse reflects the fact that older brains are sifting through the store of information accumulated over a lifetime, filtering, placing information in context.” Concerning not being able to come up with the right word, Applewhite proposes that “Since older, educated people have larger vocabularies than people who haven’t been around as long…. it takes longer to find a word… because it’s a bigger job.”

So the next time I’m awkwardly groping for the right word, I’ll just say, “I know that word. Be patient. My experienced brain is processing my encyclopedic treasure trove of information. It’ll be worth your wait.”

--The aging brain has more ability to assimilate and prioritize information. Applewhite calls this wisdom. It’s a capacity for integration and an ability to handle ambiguity. “Wisdom allows for seemingly contradictory ideas or events to exist in our minds with less dissonance.”  If this is true, we older people may be better able to handle the current political situation. But so far, I see us elders as frustrated and confused as the rest of the country. Maybe we just need more processing time. Then we will be at ease with it all and share our conclusions with the electorate. I hope this happens before November.

I like Applewhite’s positive take on the aging brain. It gives me hope. But I do wonder about some things. For example, it seems to me these benefits are not automatic. Wouldn’t they apply mainly to people who have lived a reasonably good life, who, while not perfect, have gradually matured in positive ways. Do people not reap what they sow? What about people who have lived through trauma and not received healing? Does old age heal? I think not, not age alone. And how cross-cultural are these conclusions? Does the brain age differently in different cultures? Does the aging brain of a Cherokee or an Aymara person respond differently than that of the middle-class North American? Does this list of the benefits of the aging brain express something universal about human beings? Or do cultural and personal variables make a difference? I wonder.

In the meantime, I’ll take all the good news I can get.

If I can’t figure something out, it’s because my mature brain is processing, integrating, following the path of wisdom and this takes time. Surely that’s what’s happening. Surely.

Who needs multitasking anyway?

What little children teach us about love

 We older people are supposed to be the ones with wisdom that we then pass down to younger generations. In many cases, that’s true, although being old doesn’t automatically bring wisdom in its wake.

Sometimes we forget that wisdom often comes from young people, even children. Wise old people know this. They know when to speak and when to listen. They know how to listen to children.

Recently my sister Becky sent me a list from a Facebook site called something like “Heart-warming.” I don’t often gravitate toward heart-warming stuff, like Hallmark greeting cards, but I trust my sister’s good taste. So I read it, liked it a lot, and will now pass it on to you.

A group of professional people posed an interesting question to children between the ages of four and eight. (The survey didn’t say what profession these professionals represented; they could have been plumbers or bee-keepers; they were probably some kind of social scientists. This information is important, but I’ll forward the results to you anyway.) The question was, “What does love mean?” Here are some of the answers:

 

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.... So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.” Rebecca—age 8

“When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.” Billy—age 4

“Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.” Karl—age 5

“Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.” Chrissy—age 6

“Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.” Terri—age 4

“Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.” Danny—age 8

“Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and just listen.” Bobby—age 7 (Wow!)

“If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate.” Nikka—age 6 (We need a few million more Nikkas on this planet.)

“Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it every day.” Noelle—age 7

“Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.” Tommy—age 6

“During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.” Cindy—age 8

“My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.” Clare—age 6

“Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.” Elaine—age 5

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.” Chris—age 7

“Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day.” Mary Ann—age 4

“I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.” Lauren—age 4

“When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.” (What an image!) Karen—age 7

“Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross.” Mark—age 6

“You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.” Jessica—age 8

And the final one: The winner was a four-year-old child whose next-door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife. Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there. When his mother asked what he had said to the neighbor, the little boy said, “Nothing, I just helped him cry.”

 

See what I mean about wise children? I notice that their definitions were all concrete—actions, demonstrations of love. Nothing abstract. There’s wisdom in that.

Sometime this week, if you can, have a conversation with a child you know. Listen more than you speak. Then do it every week.

Here are some photos of grandparents hanging out some wise little kids:

Old wisdom, young wisdom

 Our grandson is serving a two-year term in a North African country, learning how to set up small businesses. Through the wonders of modern technology, we get to be in regular communication.

On Saturday we had a long conversation via whatsapp. At what we thought was the end of our time together, he told us how much he appreciated our years of experience and wisdom. He then shared a concern and asked for our wise advice.

My brain immediately froze. Although he was not in any way demanding, I have problems with wisdom-on-demand. For one thing, I’m uncertain about the amount of wisdom I might have. It’s almost a stereotype—wise old people. We’re either serene and wise or grouchy and bitter. Both stereotypes. Take your pick. I know I’m somewhere in the middle, never reaching the total grouch stage, but also falling short of an endless reserve of heavenly wisdom.

So I did what seemed natural. I said, “Hal, you go first.”

He gave me an unhappy look but proceeded to share some experiences with our grandson, to give him perspective, I guess. It sounded good.

That gave me time to think. When my turn came, I realized that the best approach was first to ask questions and listen. So I asked him what he was hoping for, positive points, fears, what he could bring to the to the situation, and more such questions. He responded, Hal joined in, and the resulting back-and-forth conversation between the three of us actually led to some helpful insight. Not only did we share wisdom (I hope), we encouraged his wisdom to kick in.

Maybe wisdom is communal, at least in some situations. I think of the Quaker committees-for-clearness where a selected group of people centers their thoughts and prayers on one person and that person’s concern or decision. This involves times of silent waiting, questions, listening to the person, more silence and prayer. And then people share their sense of what the Spirit is saying. When it functions well, the person leaves with some clearer perspectives and a path to making his/her own decision. It’s all about wisdom and discernment. Communal wisdom.

I’m realizing that God invites us to ask for wisdom: “If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given you.” There’s no age requirement. Any follower of Jesus can ask—old, middle aged, young. Even children. The Book of Proverbs time and again encourages young men (and women) to seek wisdom.

Still, it seems natural that some older people, through years of right living, should be known for their wisdom. As to whether or not I’m one of those people—well, it’s probably not for me to say. Or even to wonder about. But I can certainly ask for wisdom as a gift. As can my grandson. Wisdom that sometimes comes from consulting with other people. Even grandparents.

The next time I’m facing a conundrum, I may ask one of my grandchildren for insight.

How weighty do I want to be?

In this time of life, the word “weight” has a double meaning. The most obvious refers to poundage. It seems that the older I grow, the easier it is to put on the pounds, and the harder to take them off. And what’s here on my body is distributed in strange configurations. It’s like a heavy weight (that word again) is pressing down from above, making me shorter and spreading me out. When buying new clothes, it’s not just color and style I consider, but what the garment is able to hide. I tell myself that at this age, none of that should matter. But for some reason, it does.

The second meaning of the word “weight” has to do with a serious dose of wisdom some older people exude. We respect these older gentlemen and ladies, not just for their white hair and slow deliberate manners, but because the experiences they’ve lived through seem to have given them a perspective worth heeding. When they speak, we listen. The weight of wisdom.

Quakers have a special take on this kind of weight. They refer to certain people as “weighty Friends.” As a young Friend, I observed that these awesome creatures were mostly old and mostly men. Since then, my perspective has shifted and I recognize many women who gained this reputation, not all of them elderly.

Quite a few years back, in an elders meeting, someone referred to me as a weighty Friend, and everyone solemnly agreed. No one even snickered.

My first reaction was shock (unexpressed in typical Quakerly fashion). My second reaction was laughter (silent, of course). I thought of “Fat Quaker” as a likely synonym, but my need to diet was not extreme at the time. If the pudgy-cheeked man on the oatmeal box were only frowning, he would be the perfect model.

My third reaction has been a lot of pondering and reflecting. I still don’t have it all figured out. I realize that although “weighty Friend” is a uniquely Quaker term, the concept is universal. There are those in every denomination, social group, or extended family whose wisdom is obvious. They are people who have earned wide respect through a life well-lived. They carry a certain moral weight.

But I am a Quaker and “weighty Friend” is one of those delightful Quaker terms that’s fun to say, although the exact meaning slips and slides around a bit. I ask myself, is this remnant from early Quakerism still meaningful? Helpful? And what does it mean in reference to me?

I love the old traditions, even the archaic words. Some of them carry an ambiance of holiness, order, and, yes, Quaker culture. Some still manage to be useful, even after all these years. Maybe “weighty Friend” is one of them?

How am I to hold this term in reference to myself? To be honest, I don’t feel ready to adopt this as part of my identity. Perhaps this just shows my occasional resistance to growing older. Do I also have to grow more solemn, stern, and stereotypically Quaker? I certainly don’t always feel wise.

Actually, I’ve known some older people who were not only wise, they were funny as well. Sometimes hilariously so. Maybe humor is a part of wisdom? If asked if I wanted to be known as funny or as wise, I think I’d answer, “Both, please!” Could one be both weighty and light-hearted at once? I hope so.

As to whether or not I’m really becoming “weighty” as I age, some words from the Apostle Paul come to mind. (By the way, if Paul had had the foresight to have become a Quaker, he would have been a weighty one.)

Here are his words: “By the grace given to me, I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you” (Romans 12:3). And, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better [weightier] than yourselves” (Philippians 2:3).

This gives me perspective. I think “weighty Friend” or even “weighty older person” may be a helpful concept, as long as I apply it to other people. But I don’t need to wonder whether I am or not. It’s not for me to say. If anyone ever calls me that again, I’ll either chuckle out loud or keep my chortle silent, depending on the sensibilities of the person addressing me.

Having worked that through, I feel so much lighter.