My apologies to anyone who has looked for my posts recently and found none. Old age is like a chill, incoming tide. I write for my contemporaries who may not feel they can or should talk about these matters.
The grey waters come closer – translation: my knees are cripplingly painful, and limiting, and all I can think about is events from the past, small and great, which, were I to live again, I would certainly handle differently. But the tide is relentless and the sky is unfriendly. We are left with our memories.
Mrs Llew and I were discussing this tonight. She listens to the radio at night to keep such thoughts at bay. And we both also enjoy some programmes on TV: ‘Cheers’ and ‘Frasier’ which make us laugh, and the American political series, ‘West Wing’, which I won’t try to describe, except to say that we love the characters and the ongoing story of their lives. We’ve watched those series over and over again.
I’ve sometimes touched in this blog on images of eternity. In some posts, the sea and sky are blue and I look out on them from a golden headland. Below, in the harbour, a friendly sailing ship waits. That is also an image of a real place, from my past and that of my family. Also, in what I have written, there has been an implicit faith in Christ’s rescue of us from the darkness, the chill waters I have described here, His healing of the past.
I love the warm west wind tonight, and the friendly human contacts enjoyed by the visitors to the annual folk music festival in the village down the road. But at my feet are the cold waters of the incoming tide. Tomorrow the sun will shine and I will ride my bike, at walking pace, to see what’s going on at the folk festival.
We look to the light.
I’ll ride on, for a while yet, until the end, which, in faith, will be our beginning.