Written January 29, 2023 on the sands of Cocoa Beach, Florida.
by Philip Pfanstiel
Sitting on a lime green beach towel on the the world famous Cocoa Beach (though I had no idea or care for where it was or why it was famous).
Watching a conveyor of humanity pass in front of me in the surf. Old, young, a spectrum in between. Parents, children, grandparents. Built jocks, statuesque beauties, and the rest of us … less than. Wanting to be one and have a lover who is the other.
Decades. The numbers on my license haunt me. Companies make billions suggesting their products can make one feel, look, act or pull younger. Pushing off the spectre of our mortality. Our finiteness. Our end.
And yet, like with any problem, are we asking the wrong question? If so, what should we be asking?
Most of the answers I’ve sought prove unfulfilling. Our lottery mentality is proven wrong not when we lose, but when we win.
The breakthroughs we wished for prove incomplete. More money, fame, influence, adoration, health, things … leave us with the billionaires’ lament, “all I need is a little more.”
So what if God extended us all by 10, 20 … a 100 years. Reversed aging (while keeping the wisdom, experiences, and relationships that age brings) and restoring our youth? Would that solve it? Would we finally be happy? At rest? Complete?
What if God extended everyone’s life by 200 years? Would our searching and striving find a contented peace?
And yet it was God who reduced man’s lifespan from 900 to 120 and then to 70/80.
Was there a grace in this concentration of life? The hundreds of years it took for Adam and his descendants to transition from their prime to middle-aged years was apparently … too slow.
Now, we strive for an education, then work, family, advancement, and some even to fulfill their purpose – when we look up one day to discover our hair, face, abs, energy (you name it) have served us divorce papers.
And it’s gonna be a contentious parting.
I don’t know what the answer is. But maybe it’s found in the surf, the seagulls, the sun, sound, and foam of the wind-tossed waves.
The young boy playing kickball with his older brother. The friends fellowshipping, the families building sand castles, the lovers flirting awkwardly in the waves, the elderly walking the shores recounting a fond childhood spent at the beach. The writer pecking away at his iPhone instead of body surfing (which to his credit he did before he went all melancholy).
Maybe the answer is the source and Creator of these and a million things bright and beautiful.
If the suddenness of life’s transitions has a saving grace it may be just that. The suddenness … the inability to construct a permanent happiness in this life … the want for the next thing that is always out of reach
… numbering out days is harsh but in this harshness just maybe we will turn to the Creator of eternity who promises that this life is just the trailer for the epic adventure that He wants to have with us.
Maybe that’s a trite conclusion, true. While running the never satisfied wheel until our demise is an option, a better choice may be to look to the hand that put the wheel (aging in this case) in play and see if that shadow proves the sunshine of an ageless utopia that awaits all who choose a relationship with him instead of one with the mirror.
It may be foolish to give what we cannot keep … we may be waiting for the river card to justify our wager … but what if we’re right and it’s the only way to beat the house.
That’s cuckoo … er … cocoa but sounds ‘bout right.