Something sad happened last week. A dear lady died, and I want to honor her.
As a volunteer for a local agency, I call to check on elderly people who mostly live alone. I’d only talked with this lady twice, but I looked forward to speaking with her.
The last time I talked with her, two or three days before she died at age 87, she was making homemade yeast bread.
I also love to make bread, so I asked her about it. She told me that she liked to use oatmeal for almost half the amount of flour recommended, to help get more fiber. She sometimes added onion powder for a different flavor.
My family has a history of living into their 80s, so I’ve warned my kids to be ready to put up with me that long, or longer.
My dad lived to be 80. He was born on February 29, so throughout his life he was teased about his age. Finally he was old enough to get his driver’s license on his sixteenth birthday, age 64. On his eighteenth birthday, he could at last vote, age 72.
He was in a nursing home on his 20th birthday, and he joked to the staff there that he was younger than they were.
My mother is 83, and she still lives alone on the farm where I grew up. Two of my brothers live nearby and help her with many things. But until Covid-19 shutdowns, she loved to shop on the Seniors’ bus, go to church, and join her quilting group each week. She hopes to do most or all of that again.
One Sunday morning, our pastor read about a lady who lived to be 85 or 86. At the end of her life, she was still writing out goals for the next ten years.
All of these are my role models. I hope I am baking homemade bread in my last week of life.
Psalm 118: 24: This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.