waiting room

A few weeks ago I saw this sweet elderly couple out for a walk in our neighborhood.  She had a cane.  He was holding her hand.  My insides went to mush as I wondered how many years those hands had reached for one another.  How many times had they walked beside each other?  She smiled and said hello to me.  I wished for words to say that would result in being invited over for coffee.  Instead, I mumbled hello, smiled and kept running.

How is it that I can mourn the loss of youth and yet long for a future like that couple’s?  I think the youth part is a lie passed on to us by our youth-obsessed culture.  There is no more joy, glory or beauty in our youth than in our old age.  In fact, I would say there is far less.  Sure, youth can be full of dreams because you have your whole life in front of you.  But maturity can be full of satisfaction and wisdom because you lived well and succeeded, failed well and learned.

In the meantime, we do a lot of waiting.

We wait for the person who will love us best to find us and realize we are practically perfect in every way.

We wait for our investments, whether they be professional, financial or relational, to mature and grow.

We wait for difficult circumstances to pass, and for wisdom on how to usher them along more quickly.

We wait when our hearts fail us for the courage to hope again another day.

We wait for God to come and lift us up out of the muck and mire of the years and into His glory.

And while we wait, we mature.  The places we have sown seeds of wisdom, integrity and love grow and  blossom.  Then one day, there we are, just walking along, holding the hand of the one we love while a girl runs by and marvels.  We are glorious, and we may not even realize that our love has touched a life forever.