Honouring My Parents in the Fragility of Aging

 

Getting old is hard.

Scripture does not pretend otherwise. Our bodies wear down. Strength fades. What once felt effortless now requires patience, planning, and often the help of others. The spring in our step becomes a shuffle. The mind can feel slower. The body less steady. Ecclesiastes tells us to remember our Creator “before the days of trouble come,” before the years arrive when we say we take no pleasure in them (Ecclesiastes 12:1).

That is not weakness of faith. It is simply reality. Aging brings loss, and loss hurts.

I see this up close in my parents.

My mother has become unstable on her feet. A recent fall caused a fractured neck and left her in a brace for nearly half a year. She had to learn dependence in ways she never expected, relying on others for tasks that once seemed small and ordinary. It was frustrating. It was frightening. It was humbling.

My father lives with Parkinson’s disease. I have watched the slow ebbing away of strength and skill. Where once he depended on his voice to preach and sing, there are now days when his words are barely above a whisper, sometimes marked by impediments. His confident walk has become a careful shuffle.

This is suffering. It is not easy. Sometimes it feels undignified. And yet, weakness does not erase dignity. My parents are still image-bearers, still loved by God, and still precious to those who know them. Their worth has never been measured by speed, steadiness, volume, or independence.

The apostle Paul names this tension without flinching. He says our “outer self is wasting away,” even while our “inner self is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). He does not tell us to deny what is happening. He tells us not to lose heart.

Why? Because of what God has promised.

Paul writes, “He who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus and bring us with you into his presence” (2 Corinthians 4:14). Our hope is not that we will avoid suffering, or outrun aging, or keep our strength forever. Our hope is resurrection.

In 2 Corinthians 5, Paul describes our present bodies as an earthly tent, temporary and fragile. We groan in this tent, not because we are ungrateful for life, but because we feel its burdens. We long to be “clothed” with what God will give, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life (2 Corinthians 5:1–4). This is not escapism. It is redemption.

My parents believe this. More than that, by their example they are teaching me to believe it.

Despite the real grief of what has been lost, they are looking forward to the day when Christ will make all things new. They look forward to new bodies, raised and restored, no longer marked by disease, frailty, or decay. Scripture teaches that our future will be like Christ’s resurrection life, not less human, but fully renewed (compare 1 Corinthians 15; Philippians 3:21).

I have heard people say that death is preferable to the long deterioration of the body. I understand why. When suffering stretches on, death can seem like relief. But the Christian hope is larger than relief. It is resurrection. It is not merely an ending. It is God’s act of making whole what has been broken.

And this hope is not wishful thinking. It is anchored in Jesus himself. Because he lives, we too will live. The God who dwells in unapproachable light must bring us safely into his presence, and he has promised to do so through Christ (1 Timothy 6:16). He will not abandon his people to decay.

Christ is coming again. All will be made new, including our bodies, and even this creation that groans under the weight of corruption. Though we die, we will yet live. We will rise as Christ has risen. This is our confidence.

God commands us to honor our parents, and too often we wait until they are gone to speak what should have been said while they could still hear it. I do not want to wait. I want to honor my mother and father now.

I honor them for their love, for their faith, for the life they have poured out for others. I honor them for enduring suffering without surrendering hope. I honor them because, in their weakness, they are still bearing witness. Their lives preach. Their voices still sing, even when quiet. Their hope is steady. And it has strengthened mine.

A Prayer

Father God, give us hope.

Remind us of your promises, and that they are Yes and Amen in Christ Jesus.

We look forward to the day when we will be raised, given new bodies, and fully redeemed.

Until then, be our strength in weakness and our comfort in sorrow.

Teach us to honor our parents well, with patience, tenderness, and gratitude.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Learning Wisdom Through Tension

 

Proverbs often teaches wisdom through surprising pairings.

One such pairing appears in Proverbs 26:4-5 (HCSB).

“Don’t answer a fool according to his foolishness
or you’ll be like him yourself.”

“Answer a fool according to his foolishness
or he’ll become wise in his own eyes.”

At first read, those verses can feel confusing. One tells us not to answer. The very next tells us to answer. Many of us instinctively want to ask, which is it?

Proverbs does not rush to resolve that tension. Instead, it invites us to sit with it.

Two Real Dangers

These verses name two dangers we can all recognize.

The first is the danger of becoming like what we are responding to. Verse 4 cautions us against answering in the same spirit of foolishness. When we mirror sarcasm, anger, or contempt, we may feel momentarily satisfied, but something is lost. We harden ourselves towards the other. We erode trust. We step away from the kind of people we are called to be.

The second danger is the danger of saying nothing when something needs to be said. Verse 5 reminds us that silence is not always neutral. When foolish words go unchallenged, they can begin to sound like wisdom. Left alone, they can grow more confident and more damaging.

Wisdom lives between these two risks.

What the Verses Are Really Saying

Both verses use the same phrase: “according to his foolishness.”

The point is not whether we speak or stay silent. The point is how and why we respond. Scripture never calls us to speak foolishly. It calls us to respond in a way that exposes foolishness without imitating it.

That requires patience. It requires humility. It requires discernment. And it requires a willingness to choose restraint over reaction.

A Word for Leaders Today

This teaching feels especially relevant for leadership in our time.

Not every provocation deserves a response. As the saying goes “You don’t need to show up to every fight you’re invited to.” Some words lose their power when they are not given attention. Choosing not to engage can be an act of wisdom, not avoidance.

But there are moments when silence carries a cost. When misinformation spreads, when people are misled, or when harm is being done, leaders have a responsibility to speak. In those moments, the call is to respond calmly and clearly, without adopting the tone or tactics that created the problem in the first place.

The goal is not to win an argument. It is to protect truth and care for people.

Walking This Path Together

Proverbs 26:4-5 does not give us a formula. It gives us a posture.

It reminds us that wisdom is not about always speaking or always staying silent. It is about discernment shaped by love. About knowing when restraint serves the moment and when clarity does.

Most of us are still learning this. I know I am.

And perhaps that is the quiet gift of these verses. They do not promise easy answers. They invite us into a slower, gentler kind of wisdom. One that grows as we learn to listen, to pause, and to choose our words with care.

Weary and Unpolished, Still Loved

I hold myself to a very high standard. Sometimes that turns into replaying mistakes on a mental loop, long after the moment has passed. Instead of learning and moving on, I get stuck. My focus drifts. My peace goes missing. Being present feels harder than it should.

Growing up in a Christian holiness tradition shaped a lot of good in me, but I also picked up a bad habit of equating mistakes with failure instead of growth. Grace was something I believed in, but not always something I practiced on myself. I often could not move past the mistake. Over time, that has left me tired, hurt, and frustrated.

Lately I am learning to name this pattern and bring it to God. Not to be fixed instantly, but to be held. Scripture reminds me that God offers peace right in the middle of my imperfection. Help, not shame. Rest, not endless self-correction. Jesus invites the weary and the burdened to come to him, not with polished performance, but as they are, and promises rest for their souls. (Matthew 11:28-30)

If you are wired like this too, you are not alone. You are not broken. You are deeply loved. And you are allowed to lay your expectations down, even the holy sounding ones, and receive the peace God is so ready to give.