The View from the Top of the Hill

Today I turn 40 years old. 

I’ve heard being 40 means I’m over the hill.  Oh, the quips we drop with tongue in cheek.  Of course folks mean I’m past my prime.  My shelf life is waning.  I’m old and life is all downhill from here; a fast paced descent toward the valley of the shadow of death.  Hmmm…  Happy Birthday to me. 

I don’t imagine myself as 40, but when I count up the years…well, numbers don’t lie.  I suppose I look a bit different than I did when I was 20 or 30.  Oh I’m still tall and my feet are still big and my smile is still goofy and my eyes still seem bright.  But I do wear glasses now.  My vision isn’t as keen as my son’s. 

If I look carefully at my hands I can see lines deepening near my knuckles.  I suppose they are there on my face too.  There is a goodly show of gray hair throughout my whiskers, and not a few strands jockeying for position around about my head.

Most of the time I feel pretty spry.  But I can tell you my back takes a bit longer to mend when I tweak it lifting wood or moving boxes or playing basketball.  I have a knee that gets upset with me if I’m playing Lego’s on the ground with the kids for too long.  And my left shoulder doesn’t like it much when I do too many push-ups.

I could go on.  I suppose these are all to be expected.  Forty years of uphill climbing will wear on the sturdiest of folks. 

But I made it.  I’m here.  I’m standing atop the hill. 

And, if you don’t mind, I’ll hang around here a bit before I start my descent.  Because the view from the top of the hill is magnificent!

Here, from the top of the hill, I can look back on all where I have been…   

I see a childhood rich with family and friends, and backroads and backwoods adventures.

I see those drifting adolescent years that tossed me to and fro between faith and fear.

I see the scattered grace events that finally took me to my knees in surrender at the water’s edge.

I see a ministry calling and my Dad’s passing and my Mom keeping things together.

I see beautiful blue eyes and a white satin dress and a woman who made me complete. 

I see long hours in classes and my nose in the books studying to serve like Jesus.

I see beautiful children, three to be sure, who enlivened the winding way.    

I see hard work pounding nails and shoveling asphalt and being refined at the refinery.

I see pastoral vocation and community life and the generosity of God’s people.

I see pages upon pages I can write – on and on – about the who’s and the where’s and the when’s. 

But more than months and minutes, from the top of the hill, I see moments of this life that have shaped that child way down there – who spoke like a child and thought like a child and reasoned like a child – into the man whose standing here in faith and hope and love. 

And when I turn around, from the top of the hill, I can look forward toward all what may lay ahead…

That bent path behind me has not been without purpose and pursuit to prepare me for this, the other side of the hill. 

I see the lay of the land stretched out ahead. 

I recall the impulsive terrain over which I’ve already come. 

Gentle lanes…sundrenched meadows…thin passageways …

Dark forests…rocky ridges…steep corners…

I see the wide and easy way ahead. 

I recall the lonely trips and falls behind. 

I can maneuver them in stride. 

I see the narrow and hard way ahead. 

I recall the helping hand and favor behind. 

I can take courageous steps.

And if I strain my eyes, from the top of the hill, toward the turns in the trail ahead, I can see the turnouts and side-tracks that open to pause-worthy vistas.  I can point out and plot them from here so that on my way down I will not pass them by as I did too often on the way up. 

Right there I will linger longer wherever my wife is. 

There I will cuddle with my kids during movie nights at home. 

Over there I will take more family walks.

Right there I will laugh more during dinner. 

There I will play more board games and push bedtimes back.

Over there I will listen long to those I love. 

Right there I will try coffee with my apple fritter. 

There I will keep trying to dunk the basketball.

Over there I will get more sleep.

Right there I will read more biographies. 

There I will build us a dining room table.

Over there I will write down more of my life to pass on to the next generation.

And all those there – and so many more – I will slow down…even stop…to rest.

Indeed here, from the top of the hill, I can see my youthful dreams from back then – of fireman and NBA star and architect and professor – become hopes for God’s reality down there.  I can see the comedy and tragedy of seasons back then become endurance and passion down there.  I can see my ardent uphill striving to make plans and set course back then become contentment in being ready and prepared for all that’s down there. 

And when I lift up my eyes, from the top of the hill, I can look beyond what may lay ahead…

Beyond the trail, beyond the descent, beyond the valley below, there rises from earth’s aged crust a range of high peaks.  I can see, from the top of the hill, countless miles of uncharted land; mountainous, snow capped and craggy.  I suppose that’s eternity’s adventure. 

It’s difficult to judge the distance from here to there. 

It’s difficult to tell where the valley ends and the mountains begin. 

Maybe months.  Maybe years. 

It’s difficult to tell where the pathway ascends. 

God knows for certain.

Here and now though, like never before on my way up the hill, I can see more than the paced out path ahead of me.  There is a grander perspective for life’s plodding.  Eternity’s adventure is in view to give depth and length and width and breadth to the journey ahead.  The days stretched out before me on the downhill climb are welcomed markers of God’s grace in carrying me further than I may imagine.    

Others will joke and jibe about these 40 years and whatever they mean for tomorrow.  Others will two-step around the reality of growing up and growing old.  Others will standoff against the passage of time as though time were in their hands.

As for this 40 year old, standing here atop the hill?

I’ll take the weakening eyes and the graying hair.  I’ll take the deepening lines and aching knees.  I’m not interested in 40 being the new 30.  I’m interested in 40 being 40.  (Thirty was a season best lived once.)  I’m not interested in pretending I’m holding steady at 39.  I’m interested in aging well.

I’m interested in the moments that attend to the years.  I’m interested in every year as a year of the Lord’s favor.  I’m interested in receiving the grace of God in those years behind me and those years ahead.  Because here, from the top of the hill, I can look both behind and ahead and see…

“But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain.” ~ 1 Corinthians 15:10