Matters of Life and Death

Did anyone catch the Barbara Walters special last week called “Living to 150”? It caught my attention because of my friend Jim. He’s closer to 150 than anyone else I know, although he’s only 94 ½. He and his wife live alone in a big, beautiful house, and their marriage has outlasted the average person’s life expectancy. Not only does Jim drive, mow his sizable yard, and hang his own Christmas lights, but he travels extensively—including recent trips to Africa. He’s not going on safaris; he goes to train young Africans how to spiritually multiply their lives.

I forget Jim is 94. Then I do the math and realize he was nearly 30 when his ship, the USS West Virginia, was torpedoed in Pearl Harbor. Yep, sure enough, he’s 94. And has the man ever seen some history, without forgetting a lick of it. I can only hope to be so sharp at 40!

My swan song project at The Navigators was a book with Jim. Buried amongst the pages was a reference to a “white elephant.” I know what a white-elephant gift is, but he wasn’t using it in the context of cheesy Christmas gag gifts, which left me confused. When I questioned him about the meaning, he did what any nonagenarian would do. He found the term on Wikipedia, highlighted the relevant passages, and sent it to me by e-mail. He refuses to become extinct. I love it!

Jim and I have talked about collaborating on a “finishing well” book. As one who is not just enduring his last years but living them to the fullest, Jim has a message to share with the world. He has hope to offer the hopeless people Barbara Walters interviewed—people who “invest” their life savings to have their bodies frozen after they die, hoping someone down the road will be able to restore them to life. Or the researchers who are banking on cloned organs to preserve our lives for decades if not centuries. In these people, I find desperation to cling to a life that was never intended to completely fulfill us. Our hearts are designed to long for Home. Jim has none of this desperation. He has expectation. He’s lived a very full, very interesting life, but he’s keenly aware that it all pales in comparison to what awaits him after death.

150? No thanks, Barbara. But I’ll take being like Jim—at 90, 70, or 37—any day.