What happens at the Twilight of Life? In the last two weeks I have visited two rest-homes and
have come away terrified. The old seem despised a nuisance a curiosity. In one home a 106
year old lady was wheeled out as if she were a museum piece to be ogled. In another a 96 year old shriveled in her bed was whispered about as if a specimen of pity.
These two cases were extreme to be sure but the old are different. Many avoid them. Many look
at them as if they were a strange breed an oddity or had contracted a terrible disease. Others
pity them beyond measure which in the end brings undue embarrassment and uneasiness.
All of this commotion about aged bodies. All of this attention because of years of wear and tear.
All forgetting that everyone of us is headed to the same destiny if we should live so long.
Is the "Rest Home" something to be looked forward to or dreaded? Should I prepare for it or is it
inevitable no matter what I do?
Rest and home are two lovely adjectives depending on their context. The deception comes
when they are placed together. A "rest-home" is a place where old people go. It is a type of
dump. It smells horrible and has a funeral-home-in-waiting atmosphere about it.
Just the other day I stood before a photo on a rest home wall. The picture had about fifty people
in it. Everyone looked happy and relatively healthy. All were ancient. The photo itself was six
years old. My aged guide pointed his bony finger at the picture and said, "Do you know which
ones are still with us?"
He edged closer and squinted through his trifocals. His index finger caressed several faces in
the photo as it made a complete circle until it rested on a lone individual. "This is the only one."
were the words that escaped slowly from his wrinkled lips.
Forty-nine of fifty had slipped into eternity in just five years. Rest-home? The “rest” were gone!
This place was where people had come to die.
One of our teen girls was terrified when while standing in the middle of a room she was
approached by an octogenarian zombie. The woman got so close that I though that she was
going to knock our teen over. She stared and walked ever closer as the teenager’s eyes got as
big as saucers!
I intervened by saying, “This is Susie what is your name?” Unhindered the woman kept coming.
She was finally grabbed by a worker and whisked to another room out of harms way.
Is that my future? Is it yours? Maybe. So what about it? The challenge is to make the most
of each of our days. We must realize that they are precious whether in a rest home or our
own home. When we commit our days and years to our Creator and Savior we can rejoice in
whatever season of life we find ourselves. The twilight of life brings hope for a coming new day
in Him for those who rest in His loving arms!
I was watching my one year old grandson, Brandon, today. He had on some baggy little shorts, weird flip-flops over his socks, and he was tottering. It made me think about how I often feel these days. Funny how that when we are little and "innocent" and tottering in our baggy pants, with our little potbelly sticking out from under our t-shirt we look precious. When we are older and tottering in our low slung trousers and the same potbelly, we looks pathetic! I guess that the two drastically opposite points of view are based on the viewer's chronological perspective. Brandon is growing and I'm dying. He is cute because the little guy has a lot to learn and we love to see him progress. The old guy has already had his chance at learning and what he is progressing toward is not quite so much fun to ponder. When I have these weird thoughts I praise my God because He never lets go of my hand whether a tottering little guy or an old one. And I found this verse to prove my po...
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