Once every couple of weeks, when the weather permits, I like to take one or two of my grandsons out to the baseball field and throw them some pitches for batting practice and some fly balls to catch. A man of my age must stand behind a safety screen to throw balls, otherwise one well-placed line drive could kill me. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be.
One afternoon in March, I took my 10-year-old grandson, Hardin, out to the field. Sometimes we talk about different stuff while I throw pitches and he bats. He and all 18 of our immediate family members had just been over to our house for my birthday meal and celebration, and Hardin was curious.
“Poppy,” he said, “you and Nana have two bedrooms you never use. Why do you need a house with rooms you never use?”
You never know what kids are going to ask, right?
“Well, in case we ever want to sell the house, the buyer would want at least three bedrooms in case they have children,” I said.
“So you might move?” he asked.
“No, we aren’t moving again,” I replied. “We are too old to move again.”
He stopped and relaxed his bat on his shoulder, and then he said seriously, “So you will be in your house until you move into the nursing home?”
Now, I didn’t know exactly how to respond to him.
“Well, I hope it’s many years before you move me into the nursing home, but, yeah, I want to stay in my home until then,” I said.
I turned 61 in March. I’m now in what I call the “Social Security decision-making decade” of my life – when to take it. Ha!
When you get past 60, you start getting more nostalgic and reflective on life. Not sure why that is, except you begin to realize the end of life here on Earth is out there on the horizon, and there’s nothing changing that. Your kids are now raising families of their own. More people you know are having health issues. You are having your 40th high school reunion.
Just recently, on the patio at night, Alison has started reading me newspaper obituaries of people we knew. I remember when I was a kid, my grandmother would do that with my grandad, and I thought, Why are we talking about dead people? This is weird. I didn’t know what the word morbid meant at the time.
The other day, Alison and I were driving down the road by our house when I noticed a man walking where I thought was too close to the road. I commented to Alison: “That old man needs to get away from the road, or he’s going to get hit.”
Then Alison said, “That old man is Andy.” As in Andy – my childhood friend I grew up with from elementary school through high school.
We had a good laugh at that one.
None of us know how long God is going to give us on Earth. I know it’s cliché to say, but still, it’s true: We need to try and make the most of our time by honoring the Lord with how we live our lives. Our actions, our deeds, our words – for better or worse – will outlive us. How we live out the time God gives us matters to Him, so it should matter to us as followers of Jesus.
Well, I haven’t spoken to Andy about his walking, but he must have made it safely back home because Alison didn’t read about him in the obituaries.
(Editor's Note: This article was published first in May 2024 print edition of The Stand. Click HERE to receive a six-month complimentary subscription.)
