Something about my middle-aged body reminds me of flying. (And it’s not just the sad reality that my body is beginning to look more and more like a jumbo jet.)
Before I continue, let me establish that I’m not crazy about flying. It’s hard for me to relax when I’m unnaturally suspended in the atmosphere like that; in fact, I usually feel like the only thing keeping the plane aloft is a mixture of jet fuel and the adrenaline coursing through my body.
I especially don’t like to take off or land, which is a shame since those are rather significant parts of any plane trip. Takeoffs don’t make sense to me – tons and tons of metal shouldn’t be able to get off the ground. And the whole landing process wracks my nerves too, as it begins with a low-level, nagging, awareness that the plane is getting closer and closer to terra firma.
“Does the guy driving this thing know we’re losing altitude?” I always want to know. When I’m satisfied that the descent is, in fact, planned, I am then free to move on to other items on my worry list: Will the pilot find the runway? Will the brakes work? Will the tires pop? Will my luggage land with me? Will I be able to jog four miles through the airport concourse to make my connecting flight?
So what does all of this have to do with the state of my middle-aged body? Just this: It seems like I was cruising along nicely at 30,000 feet, and out of nowhere came this nagging, subconscious awareness that I was beginning some kind of descent. I believe it happened around age 40. The knees, the eyes, the “optional” internal organs – all seemed to saying, “That’s it – we’re coming in for a landing.”
And my metabolism – that magical, mystical process that is supposed to burn up the calories we stuff in our mouths — don’t even get me started on that. I have a simple theory about my metabolism: It’s gone. No slow and easy descent — it just crashed and burned.
(Don’t be fooled by the picture that appears with this column. I have to stick out my neck like a racehorse at the finish line to make the extra chins disappear.)
This inevitable descent into old age is not, however, all bad. While my physical body seems to be coming in for a landing, there are other parts of me that are just beginning to soar. For those who walk with God, the same years that ravage the body strengthen the spirit.
It would be great to have the wisdom of a “Proverbs” heart nicely housed in a “Baywatch” body, but that’s not usually how it works. One is going up, while the other is coming down. Shoot.
The Apostle Paul put it this way: “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-17)
There’s another very positive thing about the descent I’ve experienced both on plane trips and in my aging body. Coming in for a landing on a plane trip signals that I’m almost home. The inevitable descent of my physical body is part of another homecoming, one that is even more wonderful – the one that will ultimately end in Heaven in the arms of God.