A Ten Year Old On An Eternal Playground

Sometimes I feel a thousand years old, my body worn out like an old tree fallen into a river for 900 years and now lies beached at Fair Haven, cracking up like water-logged wood lying under the sun.  I know so many more of my parts than I used to.  Each one vying painfully for a bit of attention.  The fall is a reality for the aging, the grip of dying a squeezing gnarled hand one wants desperately to smack down like a curr dog.  I used to go all day and all night and now it takes a great effort just to get up and watch night become day.  I long to be 10.  I rejoice in elementary school playgrounds filled with happy children.  I praise Him every time I pass one and long for His coming.  “Rejoice always…”, I repeat often, “be thankful in all circumstances for this is God’s will for you who belong to Christ Jesus.”  Here is the rejoicing.  There is a part of me, part soul, part spirit, part heart, a part of me, that has never aged.  It is always young, it remembers the feeling of no feeling of my body, just the joy of being alive and having fun.  It is always with me, this feeling, and in some way is me.  “Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end.”  I cannot know everything, not much in fact, but this I do know, my eternity will be spent in a body that has no pain, heartache, sickness, or worries, just like a ten-year-old on an eternal playground.  

This butterfly had died on our mums, covered in the
cold morning dew of the night, a 1000 years old.