June 30, 2010

ESV Psalm 71:9 Do not cast me off in the time of old age; forsake me not when my strength is spent.

Several of Israel’s poets expressed a deep longing, an agonizing cry that so many souls have expressed over the long years of time – “Don’t forget me when I get old.”

My sister and I, we’re looking for a home, an apartment (assisted living) for our parents.  Our dad just turned 90 and our mom is still trying to catch up with him.  They are now at the point (perhaps a bit past that point!) of needing some help with the chores of daily living.

They have lived in their home for nearly 60 years (they took me home to that place as a baby).  They raised four children in that home.  They welcomed their grandchildren and then great-grandchildren into that home.  That home holds many, many memories for them -- Christmases, birthdays, lots and lots of laughter, some tears.

I remember playing in that big yard on hot steamy Nebraska afternoons and digging through mounds of snow to make forts and tunnels.  I’ve mowed that grass more times than I can count and I’ve benefitted from the fruit of that garden – corn, beans, potatoes, radishes, lettuce, beets, squash, an occasional watermelon (I left the onions and cucumbers for others less fortunate than I, especially all those starving children in other countries!).

Mom and Dad sit a lot now in the swing in their back yard, listening to the birds, watching the jet trails crisscross the northern Nebraska sky.  Dad plays with and feeds several pocket gophers.  They’ve made lines in the grass, trails traversing their familiar routes, many of which lead to that old swing from which Dad feeds them, talks to them, and sometimes even pets them.

Both Dad’s and Mom’s identities are wrapped up in their hands.  Dad’s large hands have, for nearly sixty years, repaired Allis Chalmers tractors and assorted farm machinery.  And Mom’s nimble fingers have danced across the keyboards of pianos and organs and she taught piano lessons and played for church worship until just a few years ago.  (She once gave over 40 piano lessons a week.)

But now the hands have grown stiff and a bit crooked.  The minds wander sometimes and the bodies have become a bit more frail and they need us now as we once needed them.  We would take them into our homes but they cannot navigate those many stupid steps leading up, leading down.  So we search for a place that will watch over them with the greatest of care.

We will not forget them in their old age.  We will not forget the sounds of music from Mom’s piano.  We will not forget the long hours of hard work making farmers happy so Dad could set food on our table.  We will not forget the tributes their grandchildren have heaped upon them.  We will not forget.

But the truth is - the world will soon forget our brief steps here.  Both the friendless and the noteworthy will be forgotten.  All fortunes and empires and castles, all thankless jobs and humble homes alike will be forgotten by generations to come who will follow their own pursuits.  “I hated all my toil in which I toil under the sun, seeing that I must leave it to the man who will come after me, and who knows whether he will be wise or a fool? Yet he will be master of all for which I toiled and used my wisdom under the sun. This also is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 2:18-19).  (sigh)

We’re looking for a home, an apartment for our Mom and Dad … 1st floor, please – no elevators; fairly good sized, please – no tiny suite or studio; rural, please – with cornfields, not factories, out the window.  And … mind if we bring in an old piano, too?

We’re looking for a home, much more temporary than the one in which Mom and Dad have lived together these nearly 60 years, but much, much more infinitely temporary than that eternal home now being readied in their honor (John 14:1-4).  For that will be a place in a mansion, a room in the Father’s Big House in which they will never be forgotten … ever!

Pastor Don