THE NORTHERN KENTUCKY SEARCHER
"Search the scriptures: for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are they which testify of me. " (John 5:39)

VOLUME 5, NUMBER 33,  AUGUST 21, 2005

AN OLD WOMAN’S POEM

            Over the years I have spent considerable time with older Christians.  They are a wonderful resource and in many instances, fountains of wisdom.  Unfortunately, sometimes the aged are not viewed with the respect and honor they deserve.  I came across the following poem that was written by an old woman who died in a geriatric hospital near  Dundee, Scotland.  When the nurses were going through her meager belongings, this is part of what they found.

AN OLD WOMAN’S POEM

 What do you see, nurse, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you’re looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, “I do wish you’d try!”
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe…
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill…
Is that what you’re thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of ten…with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she’ll meet.
A bride soon at twenty—my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play around my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old woman…and nature is cruel;
‘Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I’m loving and living life over again.
I think of the years…all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman: look closer…see ME!

Author unknown

            The one thing that we cannot stop is the inexorable march of time.  If death does not over take in an early age, or the Lord does not return before that time, we will all become old with the peculiar infirmities that age brings.  In striking, poetic language, Solomon describes the onset of age in Ecclesiastes 12:1 -7.  He wrote, “Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near when you will says, I have no delight in them; before the sun, the light, the moon, and the stars are darkened, and clouds return after the rain; in the day that the watchmen of the house tremble, and mighty men stoop, the grinding ones stand idle because they are few, and those who look through windows grow dim; and the doors on the street are shut as the sound of the grinding mill is low, and one will arise at the sound of the bird, and all the daughters of song will sing softly.  Furthermore, men are afraid of a high place and of terrors on the road; the almond tree blossoms, the grasshopper drags himself along, and the caperberry is ineffective.  For man goes to his eternal home while mourners go about in the street.  Remember Him before the silver cord is broken and the golden bowl is crushed, the pitcher by the well is shattered and the wheel at the cistern is crushed; then the dust will return to the earth as it was, and the spirit will return to God who gave it.”

            Even at its very best, even if we live to a ripe old age, life is short.  James wrote, “Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow.  You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.”

            All of this being true, isn’t it a tremendous waste of the precious time that God gives us to spend one minute of it bitter, or continually angry with someone?  Isn’t it a horrible waste of priceless breathe to gossip, or to continue to talk about unfortunate events that have taken place within the congregation – but that have been properly and scripturally taken care of – refusing to move on?

            We all have such a short time to teach others the gospel of Christ, to influence people for good, and to help each person’s life that I come into significant contact with to be better?  Isn’t it terrible to allow even one minute to go by complaining about things that I could help fix, but don’t?  Or to benefit so much from the labor of others and never take the time to say, “Thank you?”  Now there’s a great use of the limited number of words we will get to say in this life.

            If the normal way of things continues, I will be old one day.  I don’t want to be ignored or unappreciated when the time comes, neither do I want to look back with a single moment of regret.

                                                            Greg Litmer