Stepping off our sidewalk curb, I check both ways for traffic on our busy street. I quickly cross to the makeshift lemonade stand in our neighbor’s driveway.

Two young boys stand behind a table on which sit large paper cups, two pitchers of lemonade, and a big bowl of popcorn.

“Hi, Oscar! Hi, Samuel! What are you selling on this warm, sunny day?”

“Lemonade and popcorn. D’you want some?”

In all my years while attending boarding school in Nigeria where my parents were missionaries, I never had the opportunity to set up a lemonade stand. That venture seems like such a true American childhood dream. So, it doesn’t matter to me what the neighborhood kids selling—I love to support them.

I smile as wide as an African sunrise. “Sure.”

Ten-year-old Samuel grins back. “How many?”

“I’ll take two of each.”

“Okay. That’ll be four dollars.”

He rounds the table and holds out two cups of the sweet, tangy beverage. “Be careful not to spill. We filled them to the top.”

“Mmmm. This looks so tasty.” I pull ten dollars from my fanny pack. “Here’s my payment. You can keep the change.”

“Thank you!” As Samuel hands me the cups, he glances at my upper arms visible under the short sleeves of my purple T-shirt. Momentary shock registers in his eyes, and he blurts, “You’ve gotten old. Your arms have a lot of wrinkles.”

I chuckle. That’s a bold kid. “I’m 64. I guess I’m getting old, and so are you. I hardly recognized you from across the street.” 

For the past two years, I’ve only seen Samuel and his brother from a distance. Just a wave across the street now and then, or a quick “hello” as I chatted with their mom.

He grabs two cups of popcorn. “I’ll carry these across the street for you.” 

With our hands full of treats, we climb my front steps. My young friend waits patiently for me to open the door.

“Thank you for your help, Samuel.”

“Any time.” He scampers back to work at the stand.

The next morning, I lay in bed thinking about my aging body. Two weeks ago, my bone density report came back waaaaay below normal and showed I was at risk of a major spinal fracture. Now my neighbor thinks I’m wrinkled and old.

I sigh and roll out of bed, listening for the familiar crack in my knees as I stand. Another sign. As I shuffle through my morning routine of vitamins, supplements, stretches, and strength training, I try to drum up motivation. But all I feel is discouragement. Is any of this worth the effort?

I check the fridge for salad fixings. I’ve been doing all the things I know to maintain a strong body and healthy mind. Now a cloud of doubt hangs over my head. Does anything help at all? Who’s going to take care of me when I can’t take care of myself?

My three-mile hike along the lakeshore takes longer than usual as I step carefully so I don’t trip and fall. Despite my slow pace, I only glance at the beauty around me–the sandy trail, purple thistles, and bunnies bounding across the path usually bring me joy. Today my eyes continually scan the route for rocks, twigs, or other tripping hazards. How soon until I can’t navigate this uneven path?

Back home, I shower and diligently rub lotion onto my face. I add a double portion to my upper arms, willing my skin to plump. Before Samuel’s comment, I saw no wrinkles. But here they are—dozens of them running up and down my limbs. Tears threaten to fall.

Just then I turn, and sunlight streams through the frosted glass window onto my crinkly skin. In this lighting, the tiny lines appear to run across in neat little rows and form a herringbone knitting pattern.

I trace my fingers along the symmetrical furrows which now look exquisitely knit in a perfect design. Never mind if my wizened skin declares to a ten-year-old that I’m ancient, this pattern looks fascinating.

Psalm 139:13* bursts into my head. “I knitted you together in your mother’s womb.” Wow, I’ve never thought of it so literally before! Warmth envelopes me. I felt seen, cherished, and supported. God created me personally, one cell at a time, purposefully weaving my bones, muscles, and skin, together. With his own hands—much like any crafter—he fashioned my body.

Still with my thoughts, another verse comes to mind. “Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.”  (Isaiah 46:4*)  

My sweet mom, now in her 90s, quotes this verse often to me. She’s still going strong mentally and physically; I must follow in her footsteps. Energy surges through my body, and I straighten my back, smiling at the wonder of it all.

Yes, I will age. But God not only created me, he also holds every cell in my body together beautifully, wonderfully every moment of the day even as he allows me to age.

With fresh energy, I bounce into the kitchen and pull the clean dishes from the dishwasher. As I stack them in the cupboards, I thank God for giving me strength to perform my chores and provide for my family today. Gone is the melancholy. I’m confident my Heavenly Father will care for me when I’m gray as well as wrinkled.

You might not be in the same season as I am. You might be young and full of energy. However, you might be caring for an elderly family member or supporting a friend who has health challenges. Or perhaps you’re going through some other type of adversity.

Remember in every stage of life, we are treasured by God. In whatever trial we face today, may we each feel God’s loving arms around us.

We’re perfectly formed and perfectly loved even when we’re old and gray. Especially when we’re old and gray.

Read more about my childhood in Nigeria here

*All scripture references are in the New International Version (NIV) unless otherwise noted.