Many Christians around the world have given thought to the truth, “Dust you are, and to dust you will return.”
Of course, our return to dust is grounded in the expectation that our dust will one day see our Redeemer through resurrected eyes.
James Parker ruminates on middle age and expresses some wonderful phrases as he does.
You know you’re not at the beginning, observation of the life spans of others suggests you’re not at the end.
But it’s a season where understanding of your capacities and the extent of your capacities are in some sort of balance.
Except when they’re not.
Strange new acts of grooming are suddenly necessary. Maybe you’ve survived a bout of something serious; you probably have a couple of fussy little private afflictions. You need ointment. It feels like a character flaw. Maybe it is a character flaw.
You’re not an apprentice adult anymore.
You know yourself, quite well by now. Life has introduced you to your shadow; you’ve met your dark double, and with a bit of luck the two of you have made your accommodations. You know your friends. You love your friends, and you tell them.
Limits, limits, thank God for limits. Thank God for the things you cannot do, and that you know you cannot do. Thank God for the final limit: Death, who now gazes at you levelly from the foot of your bed, and with an ironical twinkle, because you still don’t completely believe in him.
Middle age is when you can throw your back out watching Netflix.
read the whole article at The Atlantic.