23 And Counting

I wish for a waking when I can spring from my bed with refreshed energy to embrace the new day and dance into the morning, mind snappy, muscles alert, movement fluid. This is what I wish for, Maker of Mornings, Designer of All Days.

But, my alarm this morning was not the hum of my old alarm clock. It was the echo of a little voice heard yesterday on the playground at the elementary school where I volunteer. The little guy, a kindergartner, ran past me, bounding and leaping like an excited puppy out for his first romp, when he stopped abruptly, spun around and with a loud and amazed voice called back to me: “You’re old!” Then off he went to tumble in the grass and find delight in the fresh morning.

Later, when recess was done and all the little ones were herded back to the classrooms, there he was again, this time laughing with a friend as he galloped past me. “Goodbye, old man!” he called out with a wave and a smile. I waved back but he was already gone into another adventure, another moment of wonder and discovery. The little boy in my charge, standing next to me, heard the words and saw the wave, then with a puzzled look on his face, asked me: “How old are you?” I replied: “Well, how old do you think I am?” He paused. I waited. He smiled one of those beautiful, innocent smiles as he looked me over and made his mental calculations. “Twenty-three” he said with just a little sound of uncertainty in his voice. “You’re close” I told him as he spun around and darted toward his classroom.

That, I thought to myself, was the upper limit of his age scale; old in his kindergarten eyes. Had I told him eighty-four it would not have registered. I’m beyond his calculations. Upon reflection, I am so grateful for those moments because I had the privilege of being embraced by pure, innocent inquiry, by wonder. Both little guys were so genuine in ways that only a little child can be. “Goodbye, old man.” “Twenty-three.”

Lord, I wish for a morning when I can spring from my bed, dance my way into the day, turn cartwheels in the joy of my body’s strength, see beyond all limitations real and imagined. But we both know that won’t happen. So, Morning Maker, Giver of Grace, Source of Precious Life, thank you for waves and smiles and laughter and innocence, for exuberant joy and for amazing moments. And thank you that my heart can still see better than my trifocaled eyes. I am blessed, no matter what the calendar says.