Among the young, there are some who already live as though they belong to the world of the old. Yet among the elderly, there are those who live with the freshness, vitality, and fulfillment of youth. When I speak with young people who have grown old in their minds, I often feel a heaviness in my chest. But whenever I meet elders who live youthfully in spirit, I find myself newly challenged and inspired.

In Long Island, New York, there lived an old man named Harry Lieberman. At the age of eighty, he began learning painting at a senior center. Four years later, he was acclaimed by critics and art lovers as “an unadorned Chagall.” He continued to hold exhibitions—his twenty-second solo show opened successfully under the title “Lieberman at 101.”

Lieberman often encouraged other elderly people, saying, “Don’t let your age control you. Think about what you can still do now—then act. That’s how you begin a new life and prove that you are still alive.” Through this conviction, he transformed himself into an artist no less creative than the young.

Not long ago, after more than ten years, I met an elderly church deaconess again. Now nearing eighty, she looked neither weak nor discouraged—on the contrary, she seemed brighter and healthier than before. When I asked her the secret, she smiled. Living alone in a senior apartment, she volunteers for other elderly people and records Chinese Bible readings for a Christian radio station. Though she might have complained that she spent her youth raising her grandchildren in America, instead she discovered a new calling. Her health improved, and her confidence in life returned.

There are others who sigh, saying, “Now that my children are settled and my grandchildren grown, I only want to go back to my homeland to die.” But if they would only find meaningful work where they are, I believe a new world would open before them. We cannot live as walking corpses, yearning only for the home of our memories while neglecting the life that is here and now.

Many people around us lose courage before they even begin. They think, “I’m too old now; it’s too late.” Or, “My children are still young,” “We’re not financially stable,” “I have no money,” “I have no time.” Even in faith, we excuse ourselves—“I don’t have enough belief,” “I don’t know how to pray,” “I’m too busy,” “I can’t understand the Bible.”
In truth, these are often not excuses but declarations of surrender—like soldiers who give up a battle before stepping onto the field. Such defeat, born of fear rather than failure, makes any dream of victory impossible.

I am reminded of Dr. Kwon Young-jik, the first Korean to earn a doctorate while being fully paralyzed. In his testimony, he once shared how he struggled to confess his love to the woman who would later become his wife. Feeling hopeless in his condition, he decided to give up on her. But then a single, courageous thought rose within him:
“Though I am paralyzed, what reason have I to love her less than any other man?”

That conviction became a banner of faith—one that led his beloved to thank God for giving her a man who could love her so purely. Today, Dr. Kwon not only lives as a devoted husband and father but also as a source of inspiration to those who, though physically healthy, live as if paralyzed in spirit.

If there is one blessing about life in America, it is this: through its welfare systems and opportunities, people can still build new dreams, even in later life. Some, unfortunately, fall into dependency and despair—but others, by using these same supports wisely, rise from poverty and reclaim a life of dignity.

Here, in this land we call home, the choice between defeat and renewal still lies within each heart.

As Scripture reminds us,

“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” (Hebrews 11:1)

Regardless of age, it is a beautiful thing to keep one’s spiritual youth alive within faith. In a heart that never grows old, faith, hope, and love overflow—what more could one possibly desire?