“If youth be a defect, it is one that we outgrow only too soon.” - James Russell Lowell
“How difficult can it be?” I found myself reasoning with my wife when she protested the news I’d signed up to accompany our church’s youth to YC ’14, a weekend gathering of thousands of teenagers held every spring in Edmonton. Her reservations about my judgment prompted me to avoid mentioning the event’s reputation as a leading cause of eardrum perforations, heart attacks and assorted stress-related maladies among Alberta seniors.
Reasoning it had been a decade or more since I’d attended such an event, I’d eagerly embraced the opportunity to assert my relative youthfulness. After all, age is just a state of mind, right? No sweat, I figured – a three-hour bus ride there and back, sleeping on a gym floor with a bunch of rowdies, all the junk food you can eat, hoofing it around Rexall Place for a weekend - it’s all good!
Packing would be simple – an iPhone, iPod, ball cap, a couple cases of Red Bull and four sticks of deodorant. Done! A colleague even offered me the use of a snazzy army cot for the event – ha. See honey, this is going to be a snap. Or not.
The first indication of my advanced age settled on me five minutes into the bus trip. I learned nobody wanted me sitting with them because, well, let’s just say they know I’m a conversationalist and the only conversation most youth these days appear interested in is that which occurs via texting or emailing. Attempting to be somewhat contemporary, my suggestion we could chat via text if I sat in the front of the bus and they in the back received nothing but icy stares.
Now, I’ve always considered myself an old hippie who loves rock ‘n roll and can boogie with the best of ‘em, baby! And I indeed gave it my best shot this past weekend. But when I can feel the throb of the bass beat emanating through the cement floor up my leg into the soft drink in my hand and even on up into the straw, I gain a whole new appreciation for why Beltone stocks are soaring.
And, yes honey, you’re right, I can’t survive on four hours of sleep even for a couple of daze anymore. Even the army cot couldn’t lessen the assault of bouncing basketballs and giggling junior-high boys at 1 a.m.
So I’ve been reminded that youth is far more than a state of mind. My spirit remains willing, but the old grey hair ain’t what he used to be!
Tim is pastor of Faith Community Church. He can be reached at [email protected]
