Last week I had the chance to spend time with a circle of elderly people. Perhaps I should be careful of the use of the word elderly, since one of them is John's age. But then again I do allow myself to park in the For Seniors spaces at the gym. 

In any case they each told stories about where they have lived, which it turns out included five countries on three continents. They included quick references to loss, such as that of a parent when they were young. Some grew up in large families at a time when practices were so far away from helicopter parenting that there were long stretches when they did not know where their children were. 

The stories took a shift toward the naughty parts of their past. Without divulging more that hints about their errant ways, they believed that providence had saved them from dire directions. One woman, who wrote this in her book so I am not breaking confidence here, got on a bus at thirteen to explore New York City. Her parents were alarmed enough to send her to live with another family, which turned out well. 

I was struck by their sense of calm. Even though they lived through wars including Nazi occupation, and an absence of those opportunities that children expect in 2025, they managed. Several said their childhoods were happy. 

Now they live in the same community, and are navigating their twilight years in tandem. As the group ended they expressed appreciation for having come to know one another better. Which is perhaps what God wanted all along.