Some years ago I was teaching a class on theology in the retirement community where I serve as a chaplain. A nearly blind woman in her 90s, whom I’ll call Eleanor, spoke about her belief in God. When Eleanor finished speaking, a self-identified atheist seated a few rows behind her said incredulously, “How can she believe in God when she is almost blind?”

Life relentlessly hands us change; how we choose to view it makes all the difference

“Interesting question,” I said to the woman. “Why don’t you ask Eleanor?”

This woman turned toward Eleanor and repeated her question. “Eleanor, how can you believe in God when you’re almost blind?”

It took Eleanor but a moment to respond. She turned to me and she said, “I can see you a little.” She turned to the woman next to me and said, “I can see you a little.” She turned to the woman seated two seats away from me and said, “And I can see you a little.” After a brief pause she concluded, “And for being able to see even a little, I thank God.”

The room fell silent.

Silent as we sat in awe of Eleanor, who refused to let her diminishing sight take her down, who refused to let her diminishing sight steal her spirit, and who refused to let her diminishing sight stop her from seeing.

We were in awe for yet another reason: We were in awe of Eleanor who was able to interpret her diminishing sight as cause for celebration.

I don’t know about you, but when I think of celebration, I don’t think of diminishment. I think of progress, growth, and forward movement.

I don’t know about you, but when I think of celebration, I don’t think of diminishment. I think of progress, growth, and forward movement. I think of baby namings and birthdays, confirmations and graduations, weddings and anniversaries. I think of milestones: an infant turning over for the first time or a toddler taking that first step. I think of moments like securing a spot on the baseball team, being accepted into college, landing a job, completing a dissertation, sending in the final galleys of a book, setting an Olympic record, achieving a goal we set for ourselves, whatever that goal may be. I could go on. So could you. Many moments give us cause for celebration.

But how many of us think of our declining vision as cause for celebration? How many of us think of our failing memory as cause for celebration? How many of us think of celebrating how much longer it takes us to get ourselves moving in the morning or how much more tentative we have become as we move through this world?

I don’t.

That is, until I remember Eleanor. And even then I fall short, unable to see as clearly as she did, even with my vision intact.

Let’s be clear. Eleanor did not celebrate her loss of vision. Eleanor celebrated what sight continued to remain. She did so because she understood that as she aged her physical and mental capacities would continue to diminish, and she could choose how she wanted to understand and interpret this change. No, she would not complain. She would not choose bitterness or depression. She would choose to celebrate what little sight she had left.

What if we were to follow Eleanor’s example?

What if instead of concentrating on our inability to access words as quickly as we once could, we were to celebrate our ability to use the words we are able to find? What if instead of concentrating on our failing memory, we were to celebrate our ability to remember the precious memories we are able to recall? What if instead of concentrating on the length of time it takes us to get ourselves moving in the morning, we were to celebrate our ability to awaken to a new day and face that day as we so choose? What if instead of concentrating on how much more tentative we have become as we move through this world, we were to concentrate on our ability to continue to move through this world, however tentative?

While we’re at it, why not celebrate the gifts that come with age?

Why stop here? While we’re at it, why not celebrate the gifts that come with age? Our ability to let the small things that used to weigh us down seem less weighty. Our wisdom to know when to offer advice, and when to remain silent. Our legacy: our children, our grandchildren, our friends and our accomplishments.

There is a prayer in the Jewish tradition that is recited upon awakening each morning. The words are simple, yet profound: “I am grateful to you God for returning my soul to me.” To the ancients, sleep was a mini-death. Upon going to sleep there was no guarantee that one would wake up the next morning. There is still no guarantee. Just to wake up to a new day is cause for celebration.