“The pipes, the pipes are calling… from glen to glen, and down the mountainside…”
HAPPY MARCH… AND…
ST PADDY’S DAY!
Just around the corner… 🙂
Dearer than Leprechaun gold.
Or, as He wrote of you, of me, in His Resurrection Love Letter, pearl of great price.
Our cultures, and life’s sometime weary ways, would buzz to the contrary, like a gnat, in our ear. “Mm… my, you’re getting old. You’re getting close to the end. Might as well hang it all up, pull out the rocking chairs…sssssssss…”
If we listen closely, we might just perceive that lisping hiss on the last “s.” The regrettable sound Eve wished she hadn’t ignored.
“Been feeling a bit more creaky getting up in the mornings,” a friend expressed by letter. “Wondering how we’ve all reached this age already. Impossible! I think back to college days, when life ahead was bright with dreams…”
(I’ve been wondering that too, about time. Rip Van Winkle years…)
She didn’t say it outright, but in between those written lines I could hear the sigh I’ve sighed. The thought that nearing retirement or being pushed to it even a bit earlier than some puts us in the out to pasture category. Or that coming to the end (or maybe a turn in the road) of our dearest lived-out dreams leaves us standing like a passenger stranded – suitcase in hand — at an indeterminate crossroads. Which way now?, muddles the Scarecrow…
Part of me is in total communion with those feelings, even brushing the mist from my lashes over the same melancholy outlook. So many dreams I dreamed that will never be. And sitting beside the elderly who were once our strongest bulwarks, changing roles of child to parent protector, watching friends who have left us too early, it’s so easy to sit and steep awhile in the lie that we too are suddenly rounding the bend to nothing but past dreams trailing… faded rose petals on the ground.
Until a sort of righteous indignation begins a slow bubble inside me. I’m NOT that old. “That thought about being past new dreams is not Your Voice, Father,” it dawns upon me, much as a breeze through an open window lifts and caresses a curtain sheer…
I give strength to the weary, renew your youth, make you to soar like an eagle.
I anoint you to go forth with the oil of joy to pour over one another.
I sing my favor over the work of your hands.
You will dream dreams and I will lead you on to greater than what has gone before.
Do not bury your talents… keep your blessings flowing until the day I return…
You are my beloved child in whom I am pleased…
There are others waiting to be part of My dream in you…
Choose LIFE in the land of the living… not DEATH…
It’s then I pull out paper and pen to encourage my friend (and you)… For those of us in the nearing retirement bracket, let us slough off the lies about age. Look to a new threshold for fresh and adventurous dreams. (And for anyone just beginning their first chapter, or even somewhere in between – thinking you are too young or too whatever to move in your God-breathed dreams or do anything of meaning – I encourage you to throw off those lies too! 🙂 )
My thoughts go back to a conversation I once had with singer Andy Williams, then still way ahead of my current age, in his late 70’s .
“Life is creating.” he told me about the time he termed his own second chapter, a note of indignant wonder in his voice. “Just because you reach a certain age, why should that mean you’ve got to stop? I’ve taken care of myself and I think I’m reaping the benefits because I don’t feel old.” He’d started that ‘second chapter’ at just about the age many of us are now. And as he continued to look for ways to create, he also sowed into the dreams of others – bringing laughter and song, a showcase for new talent, and a myriad of jobs to an area he helped to burgeon.
What dreams might God have in mind for you…for me… in our lives ahead?
If we give up, or give in to an age number, are we not more like the man who buried his increase rather than investing for a reaping harvest?
Our God is a creative God…and He calls us heirs to that ongoing-long-as-we-have-breath creativity as well.
Sometimes, He even seems to thrust us into new dreams. Opens doors ahead of our own timetable, doors we never could have imagined. I’m pondering and praying about a new one right now, one that several strangers have seemed to echo to me lately in question, a somewhat new idea I’m not certain I know how to follow. Yet. A spin on the way He’s been renewing the artist He put in me… Leading me to thinking outside the box of all the usual avenues I’ve pursued for a living. Because… maybe… it’s time for a refreshing.
Dream-refresher. Somehow, I think that is a Name that speaks of His Heart for each of us in this moment, no matter what “chapter” He is about to write on our bright-sky horizon.
What’s just around the corner? The one who calls you His Beloved Pearl of Great Price has ever fresh dreams to infuse you with songs of joy… The only qualification is – keeping young at heart and listening for the Father’s… (As well as sending the enemy packing with his old as the Garden lies, rather than speaking them out over ourselves…)
Lord, help us to hear and open our palms to Your dreams for our unfolding lives,
then to take Your Hand as You lead.
© Pam Depoyan
- Pen & Ink Irish laddie shown above: one of my recent works in my Picture it In Pen and Ink gallery (http://pamdepoyanblog.wordpress.com) — mine, under my copyright (please do not copy without permission. See my copyright info button on the sidebar. )
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