Gray Hair

There is something profoundly beautiful about listening to people of vastly different generations than oneself. 

At first, I noticed all the silly things. I noted I had less grey hair than virtually anyone in the room. I noticed their pace. The way not one of them seemed in a hurry. I noticed how they stopped and took in the table of photos as if each one had a story about the image in the frame.

I realized as they sat to dine they came with the agenda to celebrate and not move on from this place. This was the place to be and not a place to go.

I envied them. I envied how comfortable they seemed in their own skin. I listened carefully not about careers and conquering but about life and character and faith. 

I learned that somewhere ahead of where I am now and behind where most of these darling 80 and 90 somethings are there is a beautiful shift from striving to reflecting.

I want to be more like them.

I spend far too much of every single day thinking ahead. I plan and program and postulate how to do things faster; how to create more time to do more things and do them better. I am rarely in the moment because half my heart has skipped to the next beat.

When do we grow up?

When do we realize that the important stuff is not ahead but right exactly now; living in the moment and squeezing the juice out of the gift of life. 

I am in a constant state of re do. Tomorrow I will read more, eat better, exercise harder, talk less, listen more and love deeper.

Perhaps when tomorrows are less than yesterdays we hold onto them by the second instead of measuring their successes.

Maybe we will stop wondering what life will bring and hold tighter to what He has penned. We will look into eyes instead of looking for more. We will listen with wonder instead of wondering what else. 

We will not just settle, but rather we will settle in. There is so much more to grasp if we sit still long enough to actually feel it with our hearts.

There is a great deception.

Remember the garden and the apple? Now it’s the internet or the living room or the office and the relentless, breathless striving for the sweeter life; the one that is easier or prettier or instagrammable.

I sat with people who have been there; they have “done that” and they have come to know the seeking ends and the dust settles when heaven becomes both the lens and the goal.

The beloveds told stories of losing their home countries, their spouses, their families all to find lasting, eternal, incredible value and purpose.

I want to grow up and be just like them. I want to stroll instead of struggle and weave wonder instead of worry. I want to consider legacy instead of leisure and relationships over routine.

These beauties; so wonderfully comfortable in their weathered skin; so wildly honest with everything in their hearts; so full of passion for what is on the inside and pressing in and pressing on for Jesus and all He means. Knowing the good He promises comes with both pain and suffering and believing it is all worth it.

Believing the time it takes to heal is its own bit of heaven. 

Perhaps these greys on my head are the spark of hope that He is not finished. His work to remodel and refinish my stubborn heart I believe is the goings on of a loving, pursuer of peace.