Too Old? (Published four years ago)

Sarah is not my name. It is the name I have chosen to use on my blog. I have chosen it for a reason.

9 They said to him, "Where is your wife Sarah?" And he said, "There, in the tent." 10 Then one said, "I will surely return to you in due season, and your wife Sarah shall have a son." And Sarah was listening at the tent entrance behind him. 11 Now Abraham and Sarah were old, advanced in age; it had ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women. 12 So Sarah laughed to herself, saying, "After I have grown old, and my husband is old, shall I have pleasure?" 13 The Lord said to Abraham, "Why did Sarah laugh, and say, "Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?' 14 Is anything too wonderful for the Lord? At the set time I will return to you, in due season, and Sarah shall have a son." Genesis 18:9-14

Last summer I was thrilled to be accepted into the process of discernment for Ordination to Deacon in the Episcopal Church. The first question I asked of the committee was “Am I too old?” and they assured me I was not. I completed the process and received a beautiful letter of recommendation to go forward in the ordination process. Six weeks later I was called and informed that the Church had changed canon law at National Convention (in 2006) making 72 the mandatory age of retirement for deacons. I was disqualified before I got out of the starting gate! I was very disappointed and confused about the “call” that I felt. I was “too old” after all.

During the discernment process I had chosen to meditate on the above scripture concerning Abraham’s wife, Sarah, who was blessed by God and gave birth to a child when she was “too old” to have a child. There are many ways of bringing forth new life and that was my prayer. To bring forth new life in old age.

It is still my prayer. And this blog is somehow part of gestation. I am awaiting the birth of new life. What form that new life will take I haven’t a clue. Meanwhile I am pursuing the path that I had hoped to pursue as a deacon. I am involving myself in additional interfaith activities. And I am exploring the experience of growing older and what it means to be “too old.”

Old age comes from God, old age leads on to God, old age will not touch me only so far as He wills.
Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

Ode to My Hands (first published 4 years ago)

Hands are the heart's landscape.  Pope John Paul II

As a young woman my hands were small, slender and smooth.
Now my hands are looking old, wrinkled with visible veins.

I fell several years ago, my hands reaching out to break the fall, and broke my wrist so severely that my hand became swollen and I could not use it for many weeks. After the pins and then the cast were removed, I spent several months in therapy with a hand specialist. With her expertise and encouragement and exercise I eventually recovered the full use of my hand much to the surprise of my orthopedic surgeon and my therapist. They did not expect me to regain full use.

Since that time I have been mindful of my hands. They took care of my children when my children were babies and held their hands, as they grew older. They have held the hands of my grandchildren and now, my great-granddaughter. They have washed many dishes (I actually married before the advent of the dishwasher), folded many clothes and fixed broken toys. They have administered first aid to my children and held the hands of my family and friends when they needed comforting.

My hands have been blessed with creativity. They have embroidered, knitted, done needlepoint, smocked and quilted. My hands have drawn and painted, cut and pasted many craft projects, held a camera and taken photographs. My hands have enjoyed the sensual feel of fabrics and have sewn clothes for me and for my children. They sewed and beaded a quilted chuppah for my daughter's wedding. They have made many gifts for the people I love.

My hands have provided me the pleasure of playing the piano. My hands have kneaded dough, baked cookies and cooked for my family and friends and guests. They have arranged flowers and pulled weeds and planted bulbs.

My hands tickled the backs of my husband and my children. My hands held their heads when they were sick and throwing up. My hands have petted many dogs that I have loved.

My hands have held the chalice, offering “the blood of Christ, the cup of salvation” during communion. I have laid my hands on others to pray for their healing.

My hands touched my father as he lay dying and touched my mother as she lay dying.

My hands have worn my engagement ring and my wedding band, the diamond ring my parents gave me when I finally graduated from college at the age of 40, and all the beautiful rings that my father made for me.

My hands are no longer smooth but they have served me well and deserve respect and appreciation. They have been the instruments of my soul. I pray that I will never take them for granted as I used to do.
May the graciousness of the Lord our God be upon us;
Prosper the work of our hands; prosper our handiwork. Psalm 90:17