Sometime in the past few months I seem to have crossed over some invisible barrier in my life's journey. Recently my health care providers, as well as my young physician, have started to refer to me as "Hon." Granted the ones I'm thinking about are young enough to be my children, and I am approaching 60 at warp speed. But I confess I'm not sure how I feel about this development. On the one hand, I prefer "Hon" to other nicknames I could conjure up, but on the other hand it makes me feel that old age is catching up with me. I'm nearly certain this form of address is a term of endearment and that no harm is meant, but I also came of age when being called "Hon" under some circumstances could start a demonstration or at least an argument. So perhaps that's why this whole experience has made me uneasy. Or perhaps I would not have taken notice at all, except that I'm keenly aware that I will be 60 in a couple of years, and that has me more focused on my age, something I don't ordinarily spend a lot of time contemplating.
I guess ideally I had hoped somehow that in my old age I would be referred to as one of those individuals the Psalmist compares to "trees planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in its season, and their leaves do not wither. In all that they do, they prosper." Now that seems to me to be a worthy goal for any one's life. I suppose I could tell these young women I'd much prefer to be called a tree, instead of a "Hon," but somehow I don't think they would understand. Maybe someday they will, but by then I'll have long since passed from this life to the next, hopefully after having left some worthy fruit behind in God's good creation.
Grace and Peace,
Donna Sue
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