When I was six somebody sang me the children’s song that ended “now I am six, I’m as clever as clever, I think I’ll stay six for ever and ever”. To say I was chuffed was an understatement. I actually made me want to stay six, even though that year was also marked by lack of teeth and my mother calling me Gummy, Gappy Paul!
But six came and went and by the age of ten I felt a great thrill to be part of the vastly superior two-digit world. When I was fourteen I was encouraged to find that people of this age were universally accepted as mature enough to buy and own a pet. At sixteen I knew that, should I want to, a trip to Gretna Green with an equally eager young lady would ensure a lifetime of marital harmony, but I bought a moped instead (it was so slow that it would probably have taken until I was seventeen to get there). At seventeen my parent’s car and the British roads became my own rightful playground and at eighteen there seemed to be very little that was un-achievable; manhood had arrived and I embraced it.
At twenty-one I celebrated with a party, two stuffed crabs and the knowledge that, should I so desire, I could take my HGV licence. But in the back of my mind a small cloud loomed; the long process of dying had begun as my cells were no longer reproducing as quickly as they were dying.
After twenty-one, age in itself was no longer a licence for achievement, though twenty eight was marked by the turn of the millennium and thirty four by outliving Jesus. And it wont be again until I reach fifty when I can take a saga holiday, sixty when I’ll get a free bus pass, sixty five when I’ll draw a pension and seventy when I will have to retake my driving test and no longer be insured on the church’s minibus. Then of course there is one hundred when I look forward to receiving a telegram from the Queen, more likely to be a King by then or even a president.
Where is this blog going? It’s not me griping about getting older, I hope I don’t have a problem with that, although my legs are getting stiffer, especially when I descend the stairs in the mornings (I have even discovered that hand rails aren’t just a cruel invention to hamper furniture removals - they are actually quite useful).
This is about age comparison. Last week at the Bear Iain spoke about the problems of being jealous of others from the story of Joseph. To emphasise his point he compared himself to other men of a similar age at the Bear. It was a powerful moment because, whilst most of us regularly compare ourselves, our achievements and our gifts with those around us, it is likely that most of us think that others aren’t quite as bad or affected as we are. The problem is that our contentment in life and self-esteem can be very dependent on whether we compare well or badly to those around us and whether the rest of the world thinks well or ill of us.
This was compounded recently for me whilst watching an episode of the Simpsons. I make no bones about it, I love watching it and I often laugh out loud (especially last night when Marge got a ‘professional contractor’ in to do the kitchen and Homer, feeling emasculated, started throwing things at him whilst hidden behind a tree – very close to home!). However, it came as a huge shock to me when Homer announced that he was thirty-eight years old. That’s the same as me! Others born the same year include Ben Affleck, Cameron Diaz, Eminem, Liam Galagher, Finaly Wood and a whole host of ladies in bras that I found on the internet after googling ‘celebrities born in 1972’. But when I compare myself to them I come up with various reasons why I have different successes and failures to me, but Homer Simpson?! Granted, his children are roughly the same age as mine. And ok I admit I do find him the funniest character by far on the show….I just thought he was a whole lot older. It made me wonder; is that what the world expects of a thirty eight year old? Home owner, father, drinker, committed, fat, bald, un-attractive, un-interesting, failure, dim, lost, responsible, in love … many things I want to be and many I don’t want to be (I’ll let you work it out), all written into a cartoon character?
It was quite a reality check. What do I look like? What does the world see in me? What have I achieved? Where do I find comfort? Where do I find peace?
After reflection I find myself so grateful again that living as Christians means that our achievements are not for our glory, our satisfaction or our position but rather they are for the glory of God. It makes me realise that we can do our best yet without having to earn his love and respect. It’s incredibly freeing!
And once again, almost as quickly as it left, inner peace, amidst the jealousy and comparisons of this world, can return unrivalled to inhabit the limitless stretches of my internal landscapes.
Paul Ad