Learning to slow down, look up, and honor the person standing in front of us.
I’ve been reading Jen Wilkin’s book Dust to Dust: Aging Wisely in an Anti-Aging World, and it’s caused me to think about something I hadn’t really considered before.
The beauty of an interruption.
Three years ago, my husband Joey and I welcomed his aging father into our home. He’s 92 years old now, and having him as our roommate has taught me some unexpected lessons about life, aging, and what it really means to honor another person.
One of those lessons came yesterday.
I was sitting at my computer, working on something that wasn’t particularly urgent, when I heard the familiar sound of his footsteps approaching.
“Erin, I hate to interrupt, but when you have a minute…”
I turned toward him.
“No, it’s not an interruption. What do you need?”
He explained that someone had called his phone, but he couldn’t quite figure out who it was. He’d tried to answer, but the call wouldn’t connect. He thought perhaps it was his nurse, who was supposed to come the following day.
I took his phone and said, “Here, let’s call them back.”
And we did.
We called the nurse, got the information he needed, and that was that.
A completely ordinary moment.
Or was it?
You see, something has happened to us in this age of technology, convenience, and productivity.
We’ve learned how to communicate without being interrupted.
We send a text whenever a thought crosses our minds. The recipient can read it when it’s convenient. We silence our phones, turn on Do Not Disturb, and respond when our schedules allow.
We have become very good at communicating on our own terms.
And in many ways, that’s helpful.
But I wonder if we’ve lost something beautiful along the way.
My father-in-law comes from a different generation. He’s never sent a text message. When he has a question, a concern, or something he needs help with, he can’t simply send me a message and wait for a reply.
He has to come find me.
He has to walk into my space.
He has to interrupt.
And almost every time, he begins with an apology.
“I hate to interrupt…”
Those words have been sitting heavily on my heart.
Because I don’t want him to feel that his presence is an inconvenience.
I don’t want him to believe that whatever I’m doing on my computer is more important than the person standing right in front of me.
And perhaps, even more importantly, I don’t want to lose the ability to be interrupted.
I’m 57 years old. I no longer have babies crying for my attention or toddlers tugging at my clothes. Those days of constant interruptions have passed.
But now I have something different.
I have the elderly.
And I’m beginning to recognize what a special privilege that is.
Our teenagers might text us from another room. I’ll sometimes text my own husband when he’s only 20 feet away because I don’t want to disturb him.
We have become so accustomed to protecting one another’s time that we may be forgetting the beauty of simply walking into a room and asking for someone’s attention.
Scripture tells us in Proverbs 16:31:
“Gray hair is a crown of glory.”
What a beautiful picture of the dignity God places upon aging.
We live in a world that celebrates youth, speed, independence, efficiency, and productivity. We admire people who can do more, move faster, accomplish bigger things, and manage every minute of their day.
But what happens when someone can no longer move at that pace?
What happens when answering a phone becomes difficult? When walking across the house takes a little longer? When a simple question requires someone else’s time and attention?
Do we still see the crown?
Do we still recognize the beauty?
I think honoring the elderly requires more than speaking respectfully about them or helping meet their physical needs.
Sometimes honoring them means stopping what we’re doing.
Turning our chairs.
Looking into their eyes.
Listening without making them feel rushed.
And reminding them, through our actions, that they still matter.
I know there are times when interruptions truly come at inconvenient moments. There are responsibilities to fulfill, deadlines to meet, and important work to accomplish.
But I wonder how often what I consider important is simply what I had planned to do.
And how often God places someone directly in front of me who matters far more than my agenda.
I’m learning that an interruption isn’t always something that pulls me away from what matters.
Sometimes the interruption is what matters.
One day, those familiar footsteps may no longer come down the hallway.
There may no longer be a gentle voice saying, “Erin, I hate to interrupt…”
And I suspect I will miss those interruptions more than I can imagine.
So, for now, I want to welcome them.
I want to remember that the man standing in front of me has lived 92 years. He has stories, memories, experiences, and wisdom that no computer screen could ever replace.
And if he needs me to stop what I’m doing to help him return a phone call, I want to count it a privilege.
Because this season of life is teaching me something I don’t want to forget.
The elderly don’t just need our help.
Sometimes we need them to remind us how to slow down, how to be present, and how to love.
Lord, don’t let me become so busy doing important things that I lose the ability to be interrupted by the people You’ve placed in my life.
There is beauty in the interruption. May I never become too busy to see it.