As autumn passes and I find myself wanting to say that the mountains and fields seem to be burning away, I was given the opportunity to visit, with the elderly members of our church, the birthplace of President Roosevelt in Poughkeepsie in upstate New York, as well as the Vanderbilt Mansion, built by the wealthy railroad magnate.
It was a long-awaited day we had planned throughout the summer. Yet, as if on cue, autumn rain fell from morning until evening. Still, as we rode together on the bus, watching the rain-drenched foliage through the window, simply being together made the day joyful and beautiful.
For years our church has hosted this annual appreciation trip for seniors. Sitting in the back of the bus this year, watching the elders rejoice like children, my heart was deeply moved.
And yet, I could not ignore how noticeably frailer many had become this year. Some could not attend because even simple movement had become difficult. Even among those who joined us, a day’s journey seemed exhausting.
Among them were a deaconess who had once been Korea’s first female announcer, a retired schoolteacher, and an elder who had served as an Air Force officer. Some had held significant social roles; others had quietly raised grandchildren in a new land, supporting their families with steady devotion.
Only a few years ago, they had been energetic and quick in movement despite their age. But this year, as I watched them grow breathless while singing hymns on the bus, I found myself thinking: Is not our life like a leaf trembling in the wind?
Today, I would like to reflect on old age.
Let me share with you the lyrics of a humorous song titled, “Life Begins at Seventy.”
Our life begins at seventy,
our hearts and bodies still strong.
If someone comes to take us at seventy,
tell them it is not yet time.At eighty, tell them it is still too soon.
At ninety, tell them not to hurry us.
At one hundred,
tell them we will go—slowly.
One of the elders sang this song during our trip, and the lyrics touched my heart.
Do you not think there is some truth in this? That real life may indeed begin at seventy?
Those who are ill or weary may protest, “What are you talking about? I only wish to go quickly to heaven.” Yet I suspect that deep in every human heart is the sentiment of the song’s final line: “When you come at one hundred, tell them we will go slowly.”
If by God’s grace I should live into my seventies, I believe I, too, would want to go to heaven—but not in haste.
Everyone, regardless of age, sometimes looks back with regret. “If only I had thought differently then… if only I had chosen better…” Yet life cannot be reversed. The French writer Romain Rolland once said, “Life does not issue return tickets. Once the journey begins, there is no going back.”
I did not understand those words when I was younger. But lately, as I have begun to feel the speed of life, they strike deeply. How much more swiftly must time pass for those climbing the hills of seventy, eighty, or ninety?
Human life moves through stages: infancy, childhood, youth, adulthood, and old age. Each stage anticipates the next. Youth dreams of love and possibility. Adulthood bears fruit through struggle. And before we know it, old age arrives—a time of retirement, of gathering and concluding one’s life.
I, too, sense the signals approaching. My children grow taller than I. I struggle to keep up with computers and the internet. Gray hairs multiply like autumn leaves changing color. Wrinkles settle beneath my eyes.
And yet, surprisingly, my heart sometimes feels young again. I now understand what elders once meant when they said, “Though the body ages, the heart remains eighteen.”
Old age is a step no one can skip.
Is old age defined by white hair and weakening flesh? Or by wisdom and experience? Or by the daily awareness of mortality?
Victor Hugo, in Les Misérables, wrote that when dignity accompanies wrinkles, one earns respect—and that in happy old age, there shines an indescribable dawn.
Old age carries failures and triumphs alike. It holds a dimension of value that youth does not yet know. We must help our elders live this season with dignity, joy, and recognition of the wisdom they have gained.
What do elders truly desire from their children? Often, it is something small: a ripe apple in autumn, a bouquet of flowers, a favorite homemade dish.
Someone once said that older people need money—not to indulge themselves, but to give to their struggling children or to help neighbors in need.
As the body weakens, though the spirit may not, sorrow can easily arise. A careless word. Indifference. Being left behind. These chill the heart.
Chesterfield once observed that just as a drunkard believes he drinks moderately, so youth easily believes itself wise. If young people hope for a respected old age, they must learn from those who have invested a lifetime gaining wisdom—not merely academic knowledge, but wisdom born of tears and endurance.
If youth is “nature’s gift,” then old age is “the masterpiece of ripened art.”
In Scripture we read: “Gray hair is a crown of glory” (Proverbs 16:31), and “Stand up in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly, and revere your God” (Leviticus 19:32). Even before commanding reverence for God, we are told to honor the elderly.
During our trip, we briefly stopped at the Vanderbilt Mansion, a grand estate overlooking the Hudson River, built on six hundred acres of breathtaking land. Fifty rooms filled with European treasures. More than fifty servants maintained it. Yet Frederick Vanderbilt eventually left it all behind. The mansion became a museum.
Old age is the time when we face the question: How shall we finish our lives?
The God who has guided us thus far will also secure eternal life beyond old age. This conviction brings comfort to my heart.
Dear listeners, may this week be one in which we help our elders live with dignity and beauty.
— WanHee Yoon, October 11, 1998
Daily Sauntering 
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