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What I am discovering in my old age is gratitude. Gratitude for longevity. Seventy-nine years are nothing to sneeze at.
Gratitude for the service of this body that God has endowed me with and that has served me for almost eighty years.
Gratitude that I am still able to walk, though, mind you, it is at a slower pace. Gratitude for the medical advances that can help with diminishing eyesight and hearing and that ease stiff limbs.
There is joy in knowing that I don’t have to keep up with younger folks who run ahead of me on a hike. There is joy that comes with the realization that I no longer have to “get it right”, whatever “it” is.
In fact, joy comes with a newly found certitude that I can be who I am—the joy of losing false masks.
Joy comes with the realization that I don’t need to live by the rule of “shoulds.”
Our Foundress Catherine Doherty wisely used to say, “What you do matters, but not much; but who you are matters tremendously.” Knowing and believing this brings joy.
Joy comes when I can see God more clearly because my erroneous ideas of him have fallen away.
I was taught in my youth not that God is a loving Father but that he is a most exacting task master. This joy is paramount. Now, instead of anxiously trying to measure up to unrealistic standards, I can let him take care of me.
The joy of allowing myself to sit serenely in his quiet presence banishes the tendency to make tiring efforts to obtain his favour through feverish and unproductive programs.
I am sure that more joys will unfold themselves as I continue to age. For as long as the Lord allows me to live, my days are in his hands.
