Christ is Risen!
Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, my God, till I declare your power to the next generation. ~ Psalm 71:18
Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life. ~ Proverbs 16:31
Is not wisdom found among the aged? Does not long life bring understanding?~ Job 12:12
Hoary Head definition: Gray/white/frosty-hair colour denoting advanced elderly, venerable age. A hoary head in the Bible refers to gray or white hair symbolizing old age, wisdom, experience and honour. It’s derived from the Hebrew word seivah, and represents a life of righteousness, and is considered a crown of glory when found on a righteous person. (A continuing lifelong project for me!)
Although most women in our family turned gray early, many chose not to go quietly into the night, and fiercely dyed their hair in dark, vibrant hues of ash browns or deep auburns.
Sometimes, a respectful nod to their approaching triple digits inspired them to leave a narrow lightening-bolt streak of shocking white, strategically incorporated from forehead to crown, “to look natural” …although to my then cringeworthy, judgmental, teenage eyes, they occasionally appeared (bless their hearts) vaguely reminiscent as Elsa Lanchester in the 1925 movie Bride of Frankenstein. However, in their later years, the mixed home dye-jobs morphed some of their their coiffures into fascinating florescent shades of pinky orange… perhaps inspiring punk-rockers from 40+ years ago! What I would give though, to be able to hug one of my amazing trend-setters today! I miss them dearly. Pink hair and all.
Granted, back in the business world of the 1940s, 1950s and 1960s, many women felt pressured to appear younger, and thusly dyed their hair due to these new positions – and not because they preferred it for artistic self expression, as is more the case these days… including various exotic green and purpled hair of grandchildren.
Since my early 40’s I’ve chosen to embrace the beginnings of an hoary head, not because of any “wisdom” or “righteousness” on my part, but because it was a beautiful silver and God-given colour I actually appreciated… and not for any traumatic recollections of certain pink-haired matriarchs.
As they say – growing older ain’t for sissies, and fully embracing internal acknowledgement of one finally hitting a “certain age” takes guts. Serious guts. (With or without reflux.)
For decades, each new and approaching stage of life was previously and eagerly anticipated with all its (mostly) wonderful changes. Until, one day, the proverbial Silent Maglev Train of Age zooms past in stealth-mode at Mach 10+ speed… without any of the thunderous alerts previously experienced in the Conventional Train Stations of Life.
Suddenly you fully realize that wow. Yup. You’re really a SENIOR, at least on the outside. Logically, the numbers add up, but, oddly, inside you still feel the way you’ve always felt since youth!
Avoiding acceptance of Seniordom is futile in our mortal wheelhouse. We don’t have to like it, it’s just the way it is. Without graceful acceptance comes a harsh reckoning, so it’s best to do this on one’s own terms, and to move along (even with unwelcome, upsetting health issues) persevering, with God’s Help.
I remember waking my 99 year grandma Faith at the care home from her afternoon nap, to go for our regular Sunday drive. She would get up, slip on her shoes, totter over to the dresser looking for her lipstick, glance in the mirror with one good eye, and shriek, “Mercy! I look like the Wreck of the Hesperus! That’s not me in there!” Then, armed with a fresh application of lipstick and blessed with a short term memory, she immediately changed the subject and spryly set off with us for a drive through the park to enjoy an ice cream cone.
My first glimpses of a newish (heavy on the ish) Seniordom were observed through friends and family. While everyone else seemed to be aging, I wasn’t, or at least, maybe I was, but only a little?
This scrutiny produced new temptations to judge others due to “their” denial of growing older… based on length of rogue nostril hairs, chin whiskers, and not wearing glasses, OR wearing too many glasses at the same time. When I finally acquiesced to the blatant fact I myself was almost as blind as a bat and, *gasp* needed glasses, I remember trying on my new prescription and the consternation of literally having my pastel, Gaussian-Blurred-World ripped cruelly away – to discover my own husband actually now had a few wrinkles, as did I! Sadly, it’s always easier to see (with or without glasses) others’ foibles before our own.
Lord Have Mercy!
There’s a quote from circa 500 B.C., attributed to the ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus of Ephesus, who lamented (possibly inspired by a menopausal wife?), “Change is the only constant.”
Indeed it is.
But, I’ll also JOYFULLY add, that above all else, God is our only constant, and never changes. The only Spiritual Wisdom and Spiritual Understanding that counts, is from God. I’m continuing to labour on that righteous Crown of Glory, albeit at the pace of a senior tortoise, but that’s ok!
Just keep on moving to keep moving!
Greetings on tomorrow’s Mid-Feast of Pentecost and Great-Martyr St. George’s Day!
Congratulations on your Saint’s Day tomorrow, Matushka Alexandra and Shura! Memory Eternal, dear George.
Truly He is Risen!
