There are three Bradford pear trees on a corner near my home. They are loaded with white blossoms. One of the trees is a little more advanced than the others so the green is overtaking the white. I want to yell, “Wait, I’m not through enjoying the white blossoms.” My great granddaughters, 4 and 6 years old, have been with me a couple of days. I love the secret I share with the older one as we watch the younger one change. It makes the six year old feel so important and smart. I love them bunches. I want to yell, “Wait, I’m not tired of you at four and six.” I just came back from the senior center where I sing with other over-60 group of friends and I know many of us are over 70, even over 80. I looked around at each one, and thought of the pleasure each one gives me. I know one of us will be gone soon, to sickness or death. I want to yell, “Wait, we’re not ready.” The trees are going to change, the girls are going to grow older, and we seniors are going to go into eternity. By experience, I know I’m still going to like the trees. By experience, I know I will still love my girls whatever their age. By faith, I accept death as another natural move forward. I remember Psalm 116:15 which says that the death of saints is precious in the sight of the Lord. So it can’t be all bad! I want to be prepared emotionally and spiritually to have hope in all changes.
I want to pay tribute to wonderful people I have known, the wonderful country in which I live, the communities in which I have lived, the churches who have claimed me as their own, the God who sends shivers down my back when I really give him a portion of my time—well, maybe not shivers but tears flow easily in some of those most priceless times.
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