Edgework

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away (George Carlin, Age 102).

Our contemporary society idolizes youth. For most of our lives we want to stay young, feel young and look young. Mostly we try to present ourselves as being youthful in one way or another. The only exception is that of younger children. Ask a twelve year old child and she will tell you that she is twelve and a half years old. But following our teenage years, the story line shifts significantly.

Becoming 21 is still considered a good thing. But when you turn 30 you tell your friends you are 29 and holding. As you get closer to your mid-life crisis you are said to be pushing 40. Then you reach 50 – Oh my, that is half way to 100 and the kids are starting to leave home! But you make it to 60 and it begins to dawn on you that your youth is, in fact, beginning to slip away on you. But that is nothing like hitting 70. Now young people definitely see you as old. If you are lucky, you get into your 80s and then it’s a race to see who can top 100. If you can squeak over that mountaintop it seems you have won the right to start over again. You can tell your friends you are one hundred and a half years old.

Ach yah! Such is life – either wanting to get older, or staying younger or ultimately seeing how far we can get. In any case, it seems to me that we are programmed to place great importance on the number of breaths one can take from the cradle to the grave. George Carlin reminds us that we should not measure life by the number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away! Of what use is it to live to be really old when you have never really experienced the exhilaration of being alive?

I meet a lot of people at various stages of life who just don’t get this simple truth. Life is a seemingly endless merry-go-round. Yet each successive year brings them one step closer to having to face their own mortality which they just don’t want to think about. And our healthcare system is designed to keep them from that moment as long as possible. Common folklore suggests that dying somewhere near a hundred is much better than any time before that.

But I would like to suggest that we stop using longevity as the measuring stick to find the meaning of our lives. It is not really all about how long we live, but what we do with the time we have. Have we made a difference in our world? Have we left a legacy? Have we experienced moments that have taken our breath away?

There is a long list of famous personalities who died young but who made good use of the time they had. Mozart died at age 35, Mendelssohn at 39, Anne Frank at 16, Terry Fox at 23, John Keats at 26, Hank Williams at 30, Martin Luther King, Jr. at 39, and Jesus Christ at about 33 years of age. All of them experienced moments that took away their breath but none of them even got close to the magic age of one hundred. And I have even committed my life to following one of them.

Probably none of us will become as famous as these people were, but all of us can learn to value life, not by longevity, but by significant moments that lift us beyond the mundane. And those moments will be different for everyone. I have already lived longer than any of those famous people listed above and I really don’t think that living another 35 years would really matter that much. I have had a full life and have had many moments when I found myself breathless.

When I was about ten years old, my older sister planned a big, surprise birthday party for me. I was blown away because, since I was born close to Christmas, my birthday had always been morphed into that festive season.

My breath was nearly knocked out of me when I finally submitted my life to Jesus Christ at age 16. Expecting to find a God majoring on condemnation, I discovered the deepest experience of love I had ever known. I will never forget.

I remember the moment I fell in love with Ruth. I know exactly where I was when it hit me like a ton of bricks that I loved this gal. Honestly, I braced myself because I felt my head spin. Like they say, the rest is history.

As each of our four boys were born to us, I remember that moment of awe and wonder at the new life that I held in my arms; the dreams I had for each of them. And how well I remember when John cornered me in our basement and asked if I would be his dad – and the great big abrazo I got when I said yes. And what about the many times my grandchildren so freely offer me their love.

I have thrilled at the joy of learning Spanish which opened up a much larger part of the world to me. I have had some awesome moments in college classrooms as I watched young people engage more deeply with faith and life  issues. I have known friendship of the deepest kind with Roy Penner and had the privilege of walking with him right to the door of the great beyond.

And there is more, much more. I have been blessed beyond measure. My breath has stopped many times along the way. One day it will not restart. But I am satisfied that I have had my fair share of moments that took my breath away.