Life's Journey
Back to A Happy Old Age
What is our life?
Life is a Journey, that is soon ended.
Life is a Tale, that is quickly told.
Life is a Day, whose hours roll by apace.
Life is a Vapor, which rises for a while, and then vanishes.
Life is a Flame, that burns for a moment or two, and then flickers, and shortly goes out.
Our little lifetime — oh, how short it is!
And what are your thoughts, my aged friend, about this journey of life? Once you looked upon it as a very different thing from what it appears to you now. Once it seemed to you as if the days of your childhood would never pass away. You longed for manhood or womanhood; but it came very slowly. The early stages of your journey seemed almost endless. And if it had been possible, you would willingly have taken a jump, and sprang into middle life in one bound. But now you look back, and wonder how quickly your life has passed. It seems but yesterday, that you were a child. Old age has crept on, almost without your knowing it.
Truly the longest life is but a little while — when compared with eternity. It is but a tiny drop in the wide ocean; but as a grain of sand on the boundless shore! Life soon passes it away — and we are gone forever!
And when we look forward — how soon shall we be in our graves! A few more days — and we shall come to the end of our little span. Very soon the silver cord will be severed, the golden bowl will be broken — and our dust will return to the ground it came from, and our spirit will return to God who gave it. Then we will go to our eternal home and mourners go about the streets! (Eccles. 12:5, 6.)
Now, I want you to carefully ponder the Ninetieth Psalm:
1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations.
2 Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
3 You turn men back to dust, saying, "Return to dust, O sons of men."
4 For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night.
5 You sweep men away in the sleep of death; they are like the new grass of the morning —
6 though in the morning it springs up new, by evening it is dry and withered.
7 We are consumed by your anger and terrified by your indignation.
8 You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan.
10 The length of our days is seventy years — or eighty, if we have the strength; yet their span is but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.
11 Who knows the power of your anger? For your wrath is as great as the fear that is due you.
12 Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
13 Relent, O Lord! How long will it be? Have compassion on your servants.
14 Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
15 Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble.
16 May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children.
17 May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us — yes, establish the work of our hands.
Take it, and ponder it over in your heart; and I think you will find it very profitable sometimes to use it as a prayer for yourself. It is not certain who was the writer of that Psalm. But whoever wrote it must, I think, have been an old man; and he must have written it on purpose for those of his brethren who are going down the hill of life.
I once heard of an aged Christian, who used to be very fond of applying the Ninety-first Psalm to himself. He loved to think how truly it set forth the faithfulness of God to him during his long life. When he was on his death-bed, he exclaimed, in the words of the last verse; 'With long life has He satisfied me; and now I am going to enjoy the only portion which I could not have in this life — He is going to show me His salvation.'
Perhaps, dear reader, you are drawing to the close of a long life. It may be that your thoughts have long been turned heavenwards. And if so, I know that a word of counsel will be welcome to you. But if, on the other hand, you have been thoughtless hitherto, I will try and make you thoughtful now. Whatever has been your past history, I want to give you in this book a few hints as to how you may turn to the best account, the time that still remains to you. I want to do you some good. I want to make your last days the best and happiest of all your life.
I observe that aged people are in some respects much alike — but in other respects are very different.
They are ALIKE in their infirmities. Their limbs shake and totter. Their bodies have grown weak. The clay house they dwell in, is the worse for wear. Their minds too have lost their former strength. Memory fails them. They can recollect what happened years and years ago; but what happened yesterday is gone — all is as a blank.
They are alike too in their sorrows. They have known what affliction is. Some have had to mourn over thoughtless, and undutiful, and rebellious children. Some have had to weep over many an open grave. Some have found, from sad experience, that the world is but a sorry house to live in. In these respects, aged people are much alike.
But in other respects, how DIFFERENT they are! Some are rich — while others are poor. Some have but few cares and troubles in their declining years — while others are burdened with anxieties. Some again have many friends around them, who show them kindness — while others are left alone with no one to care for them.
But there is a still greater difference between those who are far advanced in years. Here is one stooping and groaning under his heavy burden — vexed with all around him — full of complainings — discontented with his lot — having no pleasure in life, and yet clinging to it as a drowning man grasps at the only plank that is left — tired of this world, and yet having no hope beyond it.
We see another with the same grey head, and the same bent body; but there is a beam that lights up his aged countenance. He is thankful, contented, peaceful. All goes well with him. He is willing — cheerfully willing — to bear all that God lays upon him. Not a murmur escapes his lips; not a distrustful feeling dwells within. There is a calm tide of joy flowing through his soul.
How is this? What makes all this difference? It is God's grace alone. This fills the heart with peace. This gives comfort and rest now, and awakens in the soul a sweet and blessed hope of joys to come.
Such an old age as this is most desirable, is it not? And such an old age, dear reader — is just what I desire for you. May it be your portion.
I once heard of an old man, who was brought to God late in life. He desired that, when he died, these words might be written on his tombstone: 'Here lies an old man of seven years of age.'
And why so? The truth was, that all the past years of his long life he counted as no life at all, for his soul was dead. It was only during the last few years that he had really lived, for he had then lived to God.
You are now grown old. The shadows of evening are growing thick around you. You are come to the last stage of life's journey. Your state is something like that of Moses, when he had traveled for forty years through the wilderness, and was now come to his journey's end. The Lord announces to him that his death is near. But before he departs, He bids him go up to the top of Mount Pisgah. There he was able to look back on the path along which he had been brought, and look forward to the Land of Promise.
It must have been very good for him to take a survey of that winding path along which God had led him — to cast his eye back upon the many spots where mercy had been shown him — to call to mind all the difficulties and dangers he had passed through, and the gracious manner in which his God had borne with him, notwithstanding his many sins.
Now, this is just the survey which you should take, my aged friend. Get a quiet half-hour now and then, and look back into thepast. It will be good for you, I am sure; and I counsel you to try it. I will help you to do so in the next chapter.
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