Tuesday Mornings at Whole Foods...

I’m sitting here in Whole Foods. Early morning. Tuesday. The same group of men that are here every Tuesday sit at the large round table next to me. Talking about yachting...narrating nautical adventures. To my right are two other elderly men, sharing stories over steaming cups. Across the way a doddering man struggles to drink his coffee, fighting against his shaking hands.

There are so many grey-haired men at whole foods in the early morning. I love it. They remind me of my grandpa, Wing. He passed away a year and a half ago. His hands shook when he drank coffee too. He loved to recount yachting adventures.

There are about twenty Wing’s in the café today. The ones with white hair are visual reminders of how much I miss my grandfather.

Wing loved the early morning. He loved to make a cup of instant coffee, but he rarely drank it. I think it was just a pastime he enjoyed. That and gardening. By 9 am Wing would have already gone out to tend his garden. Gosh he had the most glorious garden. And that was his favorite word, “glorious”. To Wing, everything was glorious. All of God’s creation was simply glorious.

When I see these old men, talking over cups of coffee, telling timeless tales…I begin to think about growing old...it’s inevitable.

I will get old.

I will get wrinkles.

I will probably shake when I drink my coffee.

You know, it seems scary to grow old. To slowly lose control of your ability to do things. To recount the escapades of youth, but no longer be able to actually embark on one. I remember in his last years, Wing would daily talk about how he planned to go out and tend to his garden, but the truth was, we both knew never would. He wouldn’t have been able to make it down the stairs, let alone bend on hands and knees to plant. My Poppa used to take Wing out on the boat so he could be near his second love, the ocean. But in his last years, even this was something Wing rarely was able to do.

I cannot imagine what it would be like to be unable to bend knees. Joints like dry sticks. Honestly, without the hope of something to come, growing old sounds horrible.

However, this morning I am comforted by God’s great design in aging. In creating a body that grows up then shuts down. As the flesh corrodes, there comes a sweet hope and longing for a new body. Something shiny. My favorite artist and poet, Van Morrison, put it best in his song “Sweet Thing.” A good friend once pointed out that Van must be talking about heaven, and I think he’s exactly right.

“An' I will stroll the merry way,

An' jump the hedges first.

An' I will drink the clear, clean water,

For to quench my thirst.

An' I shall watch the ferry-boats an' they'll get high.

On a bluer ocean, against tomorrow's sky.

An' I will never grow so old again.

An' I will walk and talk, in gardens all wet with rain.”

When Wing died, this song became a constant companion to me. He knew Jesus. Now, Wing will “never grow so old again.”

I am filled with gratitude to know Jesus. To have a hope for something past this earth. Past wrinkles and shaking hands. For the believer, growing old is simply a preparation for a much greater adventure…the earthly body expiring, to bring about the longing for a new body. Like the icy chill of winter inclines our hearts to yearn for the newness of spring, aging brings hope for future glory.

Romans 8: 18-25…Future Glory

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.

Van Morrison, Sweet Thing