Young and Old

by Kathy Douglass

I work in the city, and on any given day, there’s plenty to see on a sneak-out-of-the-building-for-a-few-minutes-break:

eggplant and peppers at the Farmer’s Market

outdoor chess matches at Pioneer Square

strong young men hauling their food carts to their corner

tiny lights adding a twinkle to the grand old trees on 5th Avenue

jewelry vendors displaying their hand-crafted wares on the sidewalk

new sculptures unveiled along the transit mall

the harried, the oblivious, the wandering

A sight I especially enjoy is “kids on a rope”. A few times a day, a nearby daycare center gathers up the kiddos and ropes them together for the day’s fresh-air stroll. It makes me smile every time. Toddlers holding on to their assigned knot in the fat red rope, enjoying their own space, but sharing the walk.

It’s their own little bit of journey. The rope reminds them to hold on tight, because it is safer out there when you are holding on. The rope reminds them that they are not alone. Just a bit of rope in front of them and behind, there’s a friendly face, a buddy who is holding on too. And leading them along is someone who is older and taller and wiser. Someone who is familiar with the path because they’ve been following it a long time.

I am observing the blessing it is that St. Luke’s is an intergenerational community. Its part of what draws me: the welcome and tenderness that’s generously offered to the little ones, the silver-haired ones, and the somewhere-in-between ones.

My own spiritual roots were nurtured in churches where the older and the younger met together to worship, to pray, to work, to eat, to cry, to celebrate, to walk. I still remember so many of them: Mr. Throckmorton, the McBees. Mrs. Plant and Selma. Mr. Moothart and Alma Beckley. Mrs. Crawford and Mrs. Fast. I remember a gal named Sandy. When I was about 7 years old and she was, oh, maybe 15, she took a special interest in me. I got to go exploring with her at the store where her father was a grocer, I got to play the piano at her house. A few times she took me out for ice cream for no particular reason. I felt like the only 7 year old girl in the world. I could hardly believe that someone like her was paying any attention to someone like me.

My roots thrived in that deep, rich soil of Christ-followers who were older and taller and wiser. I was starting out on my journey, and they were familiar with the path because they’d been following it a long time. I needed their wisdom, their perspective. I needed to be present to their compassion and grace, their faith. The kind of faith that comes from what is suffered and borne, from what is hoped for and not yet seen. I needed to be present to the gentleness that comes with years of living as forgiven, as beloved.

When Rev. Jennifer included me a few months ago in an email message meant for young adults, I was glad she didn’t ask to see my ID. Just a few winters from now, I expect to find an AARP membership packet in my mailbox. But I do my best to hang onto some child-like traits, or at least dust them off when I’ve let them sit for too long because I am busy being oh, so very serious. The little ones remind me of these things: to laugh with your whole belly, to cry with all your tears. To ask questions without checking to see how it sounds before I speak. To be present because there’s just nowhere else to be. Last year I was wandering around the children’s section of a used bookstore in Seattle and came across a poster spoofing Elizabeth Gilbert’s best-seller, “Eat, Pray, Love”. The brightly-colored poster showed the contented faces of children surrounding these words: “Snack, Play, Nap.” Now that’s some child-like behavior I can get behind. I need the little ones in my community. I need their sense of wonder, their openness, their spirit.

Rev. Jennifer shared at the Quiet Day a few weeks back that while our paths may diverge, our destination is the same. I don’t know what happened to Sandy. Our paths diverged a long time ago. But I believe that the connection we had all those years ago will be found intact one day, when the destination we share is reached.

When we value who we are, our stories, and what we have to offer, the young can teach the old, the old can teach the young.

A friend asked me a few weeks ago: “Kath, are we growing old together?” I was delighted to say, “Yes, yes we are.” We’re kids on the rope, holding on tight, because it’s safer out there when we’re holding on. We’re seeing just ahead of us, and just behind, the compassionate, spirited faces of companions, both young and old, who are sharing the walk with us. And we’re being led by Someone who knows the way.