I received a letter from my publisher today. She wrote, "It is with sorrow and joy that I write you the news that I am selling my publishing firm."
She went on to say, "I suspect that this is my way of celebrating the year of my 75th birthday. I want to travel to places I've heard about and have never seen: Africa, Italy, Greece, Denmark, Japan, and so on. I want to do more in my church, go to silent retreats, go to more Padre baseball games, and KU basketball games. I want to garden and read and see my family, children and grandchildren. I want to see and write my friends more often, and maybe even organize my journals to make a manuscript to send to a publisher! Life is rich and I have some tasting to do ..."
I like her outlook. She is not going to grow old. She is going to grow up! I want to be like her. I want to grow up, not old. I want to taste life. I want to learn more about myself, the people with whom I live, the world I inhabit and the God I serve.
I agree. I can't imagine what my life would be like if I had never learned to drive, or play racquetball, or eat an artichoke, or appreciate a good book. Life is much fuller because Iþve learned how to do those things. I sat next to a retiree at breakfast this morning. He said, "I love being retired. I am reading my way through the Harvard Classics. I never had time to do that when I was younger. When I was younger I was learning how to make a living. Now, I am learning how to make a life!"
I'm also having a lot of fun learning how to be an empty-nester. With the kids away at college Trudy and I can eat asparagus for breakfast and cereal for dinner, without our children questioning our sanity. Moreover, we can decide to eat out at the last minute or meet each other for a movie on the way home from work. Learning how to be on our own again has been a rollicking good time.
Someone in the congregation recently lost her father. I thought my associate had contacted her. He had not. A month after the death, no one from the pastoral staff had acknowledged her father's death. I called her on the phone. I received a cool reception. She was hurt and angry. She rightly wondered if we cared about her. I apologized. She accepted the apology, but it took her awhile to let go of her disappointment with me and the church. I learned a painful lesson. I no longer assume someone has been called. I ask to make sure.
I wonder why so many of the lessons I've had to learn come through my mistakes and failures? I wish all my learning could be fun and fulfilling. Sometimes it is not. Sometimes my learning causes pain.
I don't want to live that way anymore. I donþt want to go through life always preparing for the worst instead of expecting the best. How come it's taking me so long to change? Learning can be so frustrating.
There is the story of a learned man who came to visit a rabbi. The scholar was no longer a young man -- he was close to 40 -- but he had never before visited a rabbi.
"What have you done all your life?" the master asked him.
"I've have gone through the whole of the Talmud three times," answered the learned man.
"Yes, but how much of the Talmud has gone through you?" the rabbi inquired.
How much of Christ has gone through me? Not enough! Robert Browning wrote, "Why stay on earth unless to grow?" And why stay on earth unless it is to grow into the image of Christ? Every other goal of mine pales in comparison to this one.
About the author: Richard Meyer is the regular "Small Group" columnist for Faith At Work magazine. He is Senior Pastor of First Presbyterian Church, Maitland FL and author of the book, One Anothering.
This article appeared in 1996 Summer Issue of the Faith At Work magazine. Send comments to FAW Editor.