Sixteen years ago, when my daughter was 4 years old, she sang for my mom’s second wedding. My mom was just past sixty at the time, and chose the John Lennon song, Grow Old Along With Me, The Best Is Yet To Be, because of the beautiful hope it expressed. I sat with Natalee on the stage, holding the microphone for her—as she boldly locked eyes with her Nana and sang her heart out. There wasn’t a dry eye in the place.
However, the older I’ve grown, the less confidence I have in the surface- level sentiment behind those lyrics. It definitely didn’t pan out for John Lennon. And my mom would certainly admit that, as she’s grown older, Lennon’s brand of ‘best’ has up and gone. Age always robs away more than it gives—whether it’s our hair, our finances, our mobility, or the life of a loved one.
But yet… above the desk where I work I’ve hung a little picture that declares: Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be. At fifty-plus years—with all my youthful naivete not-so-gracefully departed—I can honestly say I am confident that my future will be world’s better than anything I could ever plan or imagine.
For me, though, it has nothing to do with how good things might get for my husband and myself if we play our cards right. It is far more than seeking happiness through strong relationships, a healthy financial portfolio, adventure, kindness, or even (say it ain’t so!) healthy living. It’s all gonna end one way or another. (Even if I never touch sugar again!)
What it is about, though, is what is promised to me through what Christ did on the cross. I’ll never push it on anyone—because He didn’t push it on me. But neither can I keep silent about my thankfulness for the unspeakably beautiful eternity that His sacrifice bought for broken old me. Despite growing older by the day and looking down the line at all the difficulties life will inevitably throw my way, He restored my belief that the best is yet to be.