Complaints About Getting Old

I had a birthday on Monday. My twenty-fifth. I was rather curious to see what my reaction to it would be, since this is traditionally the last birthday that people welcome with open arms and an exclamation of "Yay!" rather than "Oh no!"

God, being Himself, was unspeakably kind. He planted this train of thought in my mind:

"I'm alive. I've actually survived twenty-five years. If this were the Middle Ages, or a concentration camp in Siberia, or any number of other situations, I'd stand a good chance of being dead. But God has graciously sustained me for twenty-five years. That's millions of seconds. And next year, if I live that long, it'll be even more of a wonder. Why do people complain about growing older? What would they rather be---dead? Why don't we see it as a gift, a miracle? Why this grumbling?"

It was one of those moments in which something settles permanently into place in your mind and soul: click. Having been granted this perspective, I intend only to strengthen it as the years progress. God has been kind to me; I don't believe I have wasted a single year of my life since I was saved. On the contrary, the last ten years have been extraordinarily productive. And that is one more thing to celebrate: my first decade in Christ. If you want to think of it that way, dear reader, I am only ten years old.

Oh, and here's a secret about growing up after you've been born for the second time---it only gets better and better. I shall be stronger, wiser, more beautiful, happier, every day I walk with God from now until the uttermost of eternity.

There is no room for complaints when one faces such a reality. There is only room for delight.