Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs.” (Mark 10:14).
I’m so curious about my last day on earth. (Aren’t we all?) I expect that my swan song will include a rehash of my time here, the old “life flashing” thing. How will it feel to look back on the bumpy, exciting, painful-at-times road I traveled in this world? There will probably be many regrets. I’ll surely find myself wishing for a magic eraser to rub out the countless un-lovely things I have said and done. And it may be that those sad, grownup regrets will overshadow the memory of my youthful, open-hearted exuberance. But it doesn’t have to be that way.
My husband Steve and I recently saw Stephen Sondheim’s wonderful Broadway musical, Merrily We Roll Along. The show tells the story of three longtime friends, but in reverse. In Scene One, their bond has been shattered. We learn that their lives have been filled with unfortunate compromises. At the end of the play, they are young adults, staring up at the stars, bursting with excitement and possibility. It was a fascinating way to structure the show—the audience knew how things would turn out, but the characters didn’t. They grew more and more innocent and hopeful as each scene progressed.
Physical aging is an irreversible process, regardless of the many remarkable advances made in modern medicine. Even with a herculean effort to turn back the clock, I cannot imagine ever being mistaken for a 20-year old, when I am in my 90s. And I wouldn’t want to trade my hard-earned wrinkles and wisdom for the smooth-skinned innocence and naiveté I once possessed. I value the life experiences, happy and tragic, that have made me the adult I am today.
However, there are aspects of being very young that I do miss. I wonder if I can tap into the spirit of the Sondheim show—not actually living backwards, but recapturing some of the best qualities of my childhood? I turned 67 on my last birthday—a lot of water under the bridge for sure. But if I believe that I am still a child, God’s child, deep inside, can I start living that way again? More curious, more open-hearted, more optimistic, more joyful?
The audience in that theatre, like God, knew the final outcome, as the characters’ stories continued to unfold out of chronological order. Even so, we cheered that last scene: the three friends linking arms, eagerly anticipating their future. It was a beautiful statement of hope, the hope with which we all begin our life journeys.
My yoga teacher reminds us during each class that we’ve never been in this moment before. We are invited to reach for what she calls “the cellular memory” of being brand-new. Curled up on our yoga mats, we travel back in time, mentally, to our own starry night of shining possibilities. Then our class ends. Our cares and responsibilities await once more. It’s easy to forget who, and whose, we really are.
With awareness, I believe we can cherish our permanent identities as God’s children, along with the fully developed personalities we have acquired over time. We can hold onto hope—the hope that can help us make the world a more beautiful place. Until that last second on that last day, it’s not too late for us to fully embrace the best parts of our inner children, and the glorious, hopeful gift of being alive.
Elise Seyfried is the author of five books of humorous spiritual essays. Elise recently retired after 20 years as director of spiritual formation at Christ’s Lutheran Church in Oreland, Pennsylvania.
This article appeared in the September/October 2024 issue of Gather. To read more like it, subscribe to Gather.