So there’s this relatively new word going around. You’ve probably heard it. It’s called “hangry.” It’s the combination of hungry and angry, and refers to the anger caused by being hungry.
I was hangry for God’s word the other day. Even though I read the Bible nearly every morning, I was driving around and my heart actually began to feel empty like my stomach does when I haven’t eaten in a while. I actually pictured myself picking up a Bible and taking big bites out of it like a cheeseburger, chewing it up and swallowing it. (Maybe I have pica.) Then I pictured an IV drip of the word in my arm. Then I decided what I really needed was one of those giant syringes straight into my heart.
Thankfully I was prepared. During a similar crisis a few weeks before, I downloaded the audiobook of the Gospel of John onto my phone. So I turned it on and let it pick up wherever it had left off last time.
I let it play on and on as I drove. John 8 began with the woman caught in adultery and the Pharisees wanting to trap Jesus by reminding Him that according to the law of Moses, she should be stoned. We all know the famous answer, “‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her’” (v. 7). Brilliant. Beautiful. Merciful. Some of my very favorite red-letter words. Oh, how I love Him.
But I heard something after that that I had never noticed before. “At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there” (v. 9).
The older ones first. The older ones.
The stones of judgment were dropped by the wrinkled hands first. The first ones to walk away probably walked with a limp or with assistance. Those who had lived the longest were first to give a woman back her life. The older ones first.
I remember complaining to my dad in high school about boys. “Dad, they’re just so cocky and conceited. Ugh.” Dad gave me a wry smile. “Don’t worry, babe. Life has a way of knockin’ that outta ya.” I had no idea how true that would prove to be in my own life.
The very worst things I have ever done have strangely been exactly what my ego has needed. Some sins you can rationalize. Some you can forget about. White lies. Speeding. An occasional bad word. But when you are paralyzed facedown in your sin and have no choice but to let grace pick you up, once you are back on your feet, you’re just never the same.
I remember in my twenties joining the fray of angry Gator fans calling for Ron Zook’s head after a couple of disappointing seasons. But recently when the same crowd demanded Will Muschamp’s resignation, I kept my mouth shut. Once you experience failure followed by overwhelming grace, it’s just a little harder to demand ‘justice’ for another’s imperfections.
I take that as a good sign. But I know full well that aging could go hard one of two ways. My failing eyes could begin to see a mirage of my own virtue and look disdainfully on younger generations, assigning labels and judgment with reckless abandon. Or the eyesight of my heart could grow ever sharper as I see more and more of who Jesus is and more and more of who I am, marvel at His wild love for me and pour it out on whomever I meet.
I was driving to Publix (the story of my life) with Beau one day. I stopped at a stop sign and an older man crossed the street in front of me, wearing loud mismatched clothes. Beau and I both laughed.
I sighed. “Man, I just can’t wait until I’m old. I’ll be able to do whatever I want, say whatever I want, wear whatever I want…”
Beau looked at me confused. “Well, why don’t you just do that now?”
I grinned at him. “Because if I did it NOW, people would call the guys in the white coats and they’d lock me in the loony bin. If you do it in your thirties, you’re crazy and weird. If you do it in your seventies or eighties, you’re just old. And for some reason, that’s okay.”
Old people (I use that term loosely) get a free pass. For everything, it seems. If they don’t want to do something, they just big fat don’t do it and that’s all there is to it. If they’ve got something on their mind, it’s probably going to come out of their mouth, filters and tact be damned. It doesn’t bother them and even if it bothers anyone around them, the offended parties just shrug and tell themselves, “Well, it’s okay. They’re just old.”
So I started thinking about this idea of being able to say and do whatever I want when I’m old. And then God started getting all up in my grill, as He has a tendency to do.
Yes, My child. People will give you a pass to say and do whatever you want. You’ll finally be free of other people’s opinions and expectations. So what is it that you want to say? And what do you really want to do? When you finally get that chance, what will you do with it?
Honestly, I hadn’t really given it a lot of thought. Not in specifics anyway. It was just a general picture of talking and laughing really loud in restaurants, telling people exactly what I think, just jumping in a car and going wherever I want.
But I knew where He was going with this. When I can finally say whatever I want without worrying about what others think, maybe I’ll make insensitive comments to my family or politically incorrect remarks to my friends or complain to anyone who will listen. Or, with that glorious hard-earned freedom, maybe I’ll say things like:
“You are absolutely beautiful. I hope you know that,” to a complete stranger who looks like she hasn’t received a compliment in far too long.
“God loves you so much and has already forgiven you,” to someone who has seriously screwed up and is wondering if grace is real.
“Let’s talk about what God may want to do with your life,” to a directionless young person who thinks they have nothing to offer.
“Hang in there. You’re doing a great job,” to the mom with the screaming kids who is feeling judged by everyone else around her.
“How can I pray for you?” to the server at the restaurant who has worked long shifts for several nights in a row.
“I’ve been through the same thing, honey. Here’s how I got through it,” to someone who is struggling with a sin that won’t let them go.
“Can I tell you about Jesus?” to someone who is lost and searching.
After all, I’ll be able to say whatever I want.
And what will I do when I can do whatever I want? (Of course, these assumptions are based on having a comfortable retirement, reasonably good health and my kids being financially independent. No guarantees there, but a girl can dream.) Maybe I’ll rot in front of the TV getting depressed at how the world is going to hell in a handbasket. Maybe I’ll demand special treatment from everyone because HELLO! I’m OLD! Maybe I’ll get lazy and comfortable and demand my way all the time. Or maybe I’ll:
Volunteer at a crisis pregnancy center or after-school tutoring program.
Mentor a handful of younger women who need some spiritual encouragement.
Make cookies and take them to the church break room or teachers’ lounge at a school.
Invite kids over to swim in the pool to give their exhausted parents a break.
Write notes to my pastors to let them to know how much I appreciate them.
Hug everyone, even if it’s the first time I’m meeting them.
Call my busy kids in the throes of child rearing and leave them voicemail pep talks.
Send care packages to my grandkids and show up for their events.
Seek out ways to love and bless people unexpectedly.
I’m watching the gray hairs slowly multiply on my head. My eyelids are getting droopier. The veins on my hands are starting to stick out. I’m having to wear my glasses more and more. There are these two lines parallel lines between my eyebrows that will NOT go away. And it’s all downhill from here.
But if I take God at His word, which I sure try to do, I know that “outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed every day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). And I can speak to that, to some degree. My cardiovascular health is as pitiful as the rest of me (I’ve GOT to start exercising). But my heart, my soul, the part that’s His, is getting stronger all the time.
Losing my eyesight will be terribly inconvenient and make living independently difficult. Losing my hearing will be devastating, as much as I love words of conversations, movies and songs. But what I’m the most afraid of is losing my memory.
I need to remember who I am, with and without Jesus. I need to remember my sins, great and small. Not in a condemning or shaming way. But the redeemed versions that show off God’s great love and mercy and changed me forever. I need to remember who He is and what He’s done and how He can save anyone in the world as easily as He saved me.
When I’m old(er), I want to be the first to show grace, the first to accept an outsider, the first to call out a gift in another, the first responder to someone in crisis, the first to bring the name of Jesus into a conversation.
And when I find myself in an angry mob, a group of gossips or looking into the shame-filled face of a fellow sinner, I want my stone to be the first one to hit the ground.
Now that I think about it, Beau’s right. I could start doing some of this NOW.
