Dewdrops set on an unusually warm November morning, and I found myself struggling to take the next step let alone joining a group of gladiators for an early morning sweat. We were to match the exercise count of our teammates and if successful, proceed to the next marker. As others pushed ahead, it was painfully obvious which of us were well into our fifth decade and who were not. No doubt it is usually obvious, but the separation today took a shot at an old man’s ego.

Traversing the rest of my day with an aching soul (as well as knees and shoulders), I saw more separation I had not seen (or simply ignored) before. Young bucks running to get kids to their destinations before consuming the day chasing shiny things. And I, still pushing my pace yet taking more moments to breathe it in.

In the mirror, lines on my face reflect my father; the hair on my chinny-chin-chin, which once resembled my mother’s auburn, are turning to her brilliant white. Much less like a Christmas elf and more like Santa every day.

Like the turning of autumn leaves, each faded hair is but a strand of time. Memories, some pleasant others not so much. Seasons, of growth and retreat. Lessons, some difficult, others of merely patience (even more difficult).

These “souvenirs” of journeys traveled are more than just aging eyes and ankles, they sketch road maps of steps taken, places visited and hopefully wisdom gathered to point the way to where I’m going. A stride a bit shorter, a gate a bit slower, but consistently moving forward, onward, and upward, pressing on for the prize.

… But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. Phil 3:13-14


If these words have been a blessing, pass them along to another who needs to hear. Reach out to me at and tell me your story. I would love to know where and in what way God has guided His words through my pen.



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