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Reflections on being 71
The emails came more frequently this year than last. There were two this week. You know, the ones that announce that another classmate has died. I don't mean to be morbid, but sometimes life seems like a king-of-the-mountain game to see who is last. If you are last, who will know. They are all gone.
My dad taught a Sunday School class for years and years. It was the middle aged mens's class, then the older men's class, then it was the elderly men's class. He taught it until all the older men in the church were buried and he had no members left. He joked about his lethal teaching. "You don't want to be in my class."
In his eighties, he went to the nursing home to conduct Bible studies for "those old folks", most of which were younger than he. He lived to be the oldest and longest member that had ever been in that church. He died at 93. Guess he was the last man standing.
Funny the reflections you have on the day you celebrate being 71.
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