Walking Toward Old Depot

I just read about the death of an acquaintance in Northwest Arkansas. She was a mere fifty-nine years old, and my best friend had called me about it the day before. While I had not see her for a number of years, I have the memory of her vibrant personality as the mother of two young beautiful daughters in our church. I have always heard that, as we age, our thoughts tend to move from the sensual desires of youth to the spiritual thoughts of eternity, especially as our friends begin to have health problems that are serious. I know this is true for me.

Last week while at our home near Fayetteville, my sister and I took a two-mile walk in the neighborhood. The heat and humidity were stifling even in the early morning hours, the unkempt tall grass of some neighbors was beyond being decent, and the sight of trash near a row of duplexes was unappealing. "Let's turn here," I suggested as we approached an old street in this small town. As we arrived on Old Depot Street, the temperature must have dropped several degrees because of the numerous towering oaks on each side that shaded the walkway. The scent of the mimosa tree blossoms pervaded the air. The newly fallen dry leaves crunched under our feet. We heard a cacophony, celebrating late summer with the sounds of tree frogs, locusts, and katydids. We glanced to the left and saw an apartment complex obviously designed for the older citizens in town named Savannah Park. Each unit had a small porch surrounded by a variety of potted flowers and easy chairs for visiting with neighbors. It seemed to be an oasis from life's sweltering heat and concerns. "Perhaps this is what heaven will be like," I thought to myself.

I think sometimes we worry too much about the future at my age (63). I need to remind myself to savor the moments of this life. The coming darkness is just that right now--in the future. But then, perhaps when the time comes, it might be as comforting as the houses on Old Depot.