My doctor gave me six months to live, but when
I couldn’t pay the bill he gave me six months more.

WALTER MATTHAU

You have to live every day as if it’s your last,
because one of these days, you’re bound to be right.

BREAKER MORANT

There are times after I spend an evening in the nursing home when I get thinking to myself: I don’t want to get old. For one thing, if I stay in peak physical condition, I will be a drain on the medical system. And so I have uncovered three ways to ensure that none of us ripens to an old age. I trust these will be of help to you.

1. Change your diet and exercise habits. I exercised for the last time today. Retired my sneakers. My dumbbells. My pass to the exercise room. The resolve began when an acquaintance of mine dropped dead of a heart attack yesterday. I did not know him well, but when I thought of the last time I saw him alive, how he was waddling toward the Twinkies in the supermarket, it hit me like a runaway grocery cart: die eating.

One of the things I love about the Bible is that it’s full of food. You can hardly read a chapter where someone isn’t eating or drinking or celebrating or chewing on some fruit.

And so tonight we will order out for pizza. And Chinese food. Right after the Meals on Wheels people leave.

Tomorrow I start the new exercise program. Beating around the bush. Jumping to conclusions. Dragging my heels. Pushing my luck. Building mountains out of molehills.

Besides, if God had wanted us to lift weights, He’d have made our arms heavier. And if you’re worried about your looks, there’s no need to. Sure, you may develop flabby thighs, but your stomach will cover them.

2. Have more children. Children are messy, and they won’t let you sleep a wink. Having children is like installing a NASCAR track in your head. It’s noisy. Besides, the average male child costs roughly $3.4 million (that’s in Legos alone) by the time he is eight, and you can double that if you have a darling little girl who steals your heart. Oh sure, they start out cuddly and they giggle, but don’t be fooled. They are here with one thing in mind: getting you off the planet.

Grownups have always been suspicious of children. I realized this when I was very small and could tell that they were trying to get rid of me. They told us smoking was bad for us, knowing that if they said this we’d try it out and maybe get hooked for life—or death. They covered my crib with lead-based paints. There were no childproof lids on the aspirin bottle, no seat belts, air bags, or guardrails. They encouraged us to ride in the back of pickups or build our own go-carts and parachutes. We ate worms and mud pies. We played with BB guns and smashed rocks with a hammer and no goggles. They never offered us bike helmets or bottled water, and they introduced us to things like monkey bars.

I was just a wee little kid when grownups encouraged me to play ice hockey. They strapped blades on my feet, handed me a sharp stick and something called a puck. They pushed me out on the ice, then stood behind plywood sheets and wire mesh to see what happened. When we started having too much fun, they’d yell, “Kill him! Kill him!” I knew what they wanted. They wanted me dead. They knew I was a threat to a long and peaceful life.

So have more children. It’s not too late. If you’re a little older, think of Sarah and Abraham. Or of Satyabhama Mahapatra of India, a sixty-five-year-old retired schoolteacher who recently gave birth to a baby boy to become the world’s oldest mother. Satyabhama and her husband have been married fifty years, but this is their first child.¹⁸

3. Travel to exotic places. I recommend a honeymoon in Iraq or cycling from Beirut to Jerusalem. Pack light. Carry explosives.

Okay, I’ve been joking and hoping all the while that you wouldn’t write me a letter before you reach the conclusion. The truth is, I’ve needed to laugh lately.

My father’s mind and body are worsening fast, and when I visit, he asks me to read the psalms to him. As I do, one word keeps surfacing: remember. Depressed and lonely, David finds comfort in remembering:

   God’s faithfulness

   God’s goodness

   God’s mercy

   God’s justice

   God’s miracles

   God’s compassion

   God’s blessing

   God’s leading

   God’s protection

   God’s deliverance

And as I read these wonderful truths, I am struck by a terrible irony: I am reading commands about remembering to a man who can’t remember my name. It’s hard not to reflect on the fact that if this thing is remotely hereditary, I’m in trouble. There’s something about Alzheimer’s that makes me think I have a license to nurse my anger, to fertilize and water it, to trim back the dead stuff, so the plant has lots of light. Yet that was never my father’s way. As proof, he smiles at me as I read, and I hope I’ll do the same for my kids, should my turn ever come.

After visiting my parents one night, I came home to the sound of the phone ringing. A voice said, “Mr. Callaway, I don’t much like your sense of humor. What does laughing have to do with being a Christian? We’re in the last days here, and this is hardly a time for laughter.”

I said, “Is that you, Dad?”

The caller didn’t find that funny.

I wish I’d thought to tell him that if I don’t laugh, the wheels will fall off. That if I can’t laugh, I’m one more sad example of how evil sometimes wins. But I did manage to say, “I have so much to rejoice about. I’ve been forgiven. Eternity is waiting. I get a little excited about that.”

Now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’d also add that I hope the caller wakes before he dies. That I want to die young…as old as I can.

You see, I think we stay young by keeping our eyes in the right places. By not wasting time placing discouraging phone calls. Or listening to gossip. By inviting friends over to dinner even if the carpet is stained and the sofa faded. By eating ice cream nine times a week.

I think we stay young by centering our thoughts on things that are pure, lovely, and of good report. By putting our arms out car windows more often. By burning expensive candles before they melt in storage. By getting so excited about the love of Jesus that our teeth can barely keep up with our mouth.

So tomorrow morning I think I’ll pull out those sneakers and the dumbbells and the alfalfa sprouts.

You’ll be happy to know that, unlike Satyabhama, we’ve decided against having more children anytime soon. At least until we find a nursing home with a kindergarten attached.