Age is relative. To the teenagers I coach I am old: I have a baby, a house, a couple degrees, and gray hair that centers around the part in my hair. I'm not keenly aware of what is "on point", don't use snapchat enough, and prefer to go to bed early. To many of the women at church I study with on a weekly basis, I am young. I have a baby and no children in school--let alone college. I attempt to be stylish, know how to use Siri on my iphone, and participate in workouts with the high school trackl team.
At times I am not sure where I fit, but I think it is somewhere in the middle. I still feel like I have the options of youth, but I'm thankful much of the time that I don't have the endless transitions that loomed in my teens and twenties. For now, in the deceiving reality I live in, life is stable.
Then, I am reminded that my seeming stability is an illusion.
A friend learned last week that her heart is failing. She is my age, almost exactly. She has a newborn baby, a preschooler, an elementary student, and a child that passed away a few years back. She has a home, weekly activities, and plans lessons and crafts for our mom's group. She is a bright light in our weekly studies, a servant in seemingly every circle she exists within, and too young to have a heart that is failing--much too young.
In these moments, when a few tears over a brief conversation is all our babies will allow, I feel so powerless. Neither the energy of youth or the wisdom of age can do anything concrete in this situation, where the evidence of failure is the subtle shortness of breath and silent panic in the quiet of the night that everything is unraveling. And so we pray: for a miracle, for peace, for comfort, for life beyond the frailty of her broken body.
In these moments, we are reminded--young and old, healthy and weak--life is fleeting. We are reminded to cling to the truths that are most important, those that remain beyond the conflicts and idols of youth, those that exceed the temptations of complacency and false stability as we age.