When Slowing Down Speeds Up Faith

Life is about recognizing the season.

The farmer knows spring is a season of planting, summer is a time of weeding, and fall brings a harvest.

I find myself in the autumn of life when temperatures cool and leaves turn. Winter is coming.

As I aged, I slowed down. But as my body’s pace slowed, new shoots of growth poked through.

Paul told the Corinthians, as he spoke of his frailties,

“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. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:16–18,)

I like this passage because it reflects reality.  Faith flows from one stage to another.

Wasting Away

My arthritic knees cannot keep up with my 6-year-old grandson’s boundless energy. My eyes see through bifocals that need to be changed more often. The snowcap is on the summit.

Outwardly, I am wasting away.

Priorities change. The demands of parenthood and paycheck are no longer front of mind and life. They have passed.

I have done many funerals, several for good friends. And with each burial, a piece of me gets buried with them. I am wasting away.

With each new candle added to the birthday cake, another year flakes off of life. Where once life was in front of me, much of life was behind me.

Outwardly, as Paul reminds me, my banana peel body darkens to face disposal one day.

Renewed Day by Day

Paul is not a gloomy guy, bemoaning a life passing by. Instead, hope smothers the decay.

Paul searched for the right word to describe what happens to the believer’s spiritual life as he ages. He could not find one, so he invented one—to again become new.  As the body gets older, the spirit turns back the clock.

My renewal came in many forms. Age sharpened the focus of my faith.

Wisdom replaces information. While the internet spits out information, it cannot live life and accumulate wisdom. I know what life is, that crises will come and go, and are not as earth-shattering as I believed. I know that final moments come all too often, so savor them. I guide those younger than me while they teach me what I don’t yet know.

My future is different.

In my 30s and 40s, I focused on building a church and growing its size. But now, in retirement, I turn to a different horizon.

I find songs of heaven more appealing. They trigger a time when I listened as a boy and now realize the full impact.

When I teach, it has fresh urgency. Every class is sharing, not my study, but also my living.

I find it akin to an experience I had many times.

For years, I went to Nicaragua to work with poor families.  Once the work was finished, it was time to go home. I boarded the plane and headed home. Somewhere over the Caribbean, I sensed we were closer to home. Anticipation mounted because I was almost home. The work was gratifying, but it wasn’t the same as home.

As seasons changed, my life did as well. Demands grew less, and faith grew larger. It reminded me that faith speeds up when life slows down.

I now ask the question, “What will I do with the last 20% of my life?” What will I leave behind that will be valuable? Who can I help on their journey?

As Paul reminds us, “Though outwardly we are wasting away, inwardly we are being renewed day by day.” That’s the gift of these later years—not less purpose, but deeper roots. Not less doing, but more being.