Enjoying the Decline [R, 7-20-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—Enjoying the Decline [R, 7-20-23]

 

My friend, Ron Wetzell, is “managing the decline.” That’s the phrase he uses for dealing with aging. He’s not very old, only 76, but he’s always been smart and thoughtful, for the whole 57 years that we have been friends. During his distinguished career as head of Child Protective Services in The Twin Cities, he liked to quote, to himself and to his staff, the line from Robert Frost’s “Servant to Servant” poem: The only way out is through. He is not afraid to face what is, and right now his isness involves decline, and so he is facing into it with his considerable management skills.

I like that idea of managing the decline, rather than just letting it happen, rather than letting it manage you. As I walked this morning, though, it occurred to me that I need to enjoy the decline rather than just manage it. In other words, I want to manage my decline in such a way that I enjoy it.

I am finding that when old age takes from me some activity or skill or ability, I can do more than accept the empty space that is left. I can enjoy it.

I used to be a long-distance runner. I enjoyed that, got satisfaction from it. When I had to stop running, I started walking. I found that I enjoyed the route in new ways when I walked. I was able to appreciate the flowers and houses and dogs in ways that I could not when I was panting and sweating and trying “to get in my miles.”

I suspect that when I have to stop walking, I shall enjoy sitting, be able to feel the breeze, listen to the birds, watch an industrious little ant trying to move a rubber tree plant, in ways I can’t when doing my slow walking.

My main theological mentor has been Reuel Howe, from the time I discovered his book, Man’s Need & God’s Action. [It was published in 1955, hence the masculine generalist title.] Late in his life, I got to spend a few days with him at a conference. There he told of how his father had decided that the family should take some sort of settler deal in the Pacific Northwest, when Reuel was about 15, early in the 20^th century.

They had to homestead in the forest, where there were no roads. Carrying all their belongings, they hiked into the deep woods, where a fire claimed all their stuff. [Storm? I can’t remember the precise natural disaster that left them bereft.]

Reuel and his father walked back out to civilization to get tents and such to get them through until they could build again. They had to leave Reuel’s mother and little brothers and sisters. It took a long time. When they got back, the younger children were playing around a tin can on a tree stump, having a great time. In the can were wild flowers their mother had picked, to create a spot of beauty for her family. As Reuel said, “She took something bad and recycled it to make it good.”

The decline of old age can take away a lot. But it leaves empty spaces that can be recycled to be filled with new appreciations of the little wildflowers of life.

John Robert McFarland