Who Wants to Look Their Age?

Story by Amy Stopher, photography by Kym van der Plas

I often think about my age on the train. I find myself people-watching, wondering about people’s lives: who they are, where they’re from, who, and what they love. The age bit usually comes as a shock, as I realise that man who looks tired and a bit weathered is probably my age, or maybe younger. And that grown woman, I could be her mum, or not far off. I don’t find it distressing, more surprising. Like I’ve been caught off guard by the passing of years. How am I here already?

At 43 I am a middle aged woman. If God gives me 86 years, he will have been more than generous. And with middle age has come a whole bunch of reality checks. Things that are actually obvious and I should have realised earlier, but just hadn’t clicked.

As a young woman I remember wondering who went to the gynecologist. Women seemed to talk about it in the movies, but I didn’t know anyone who had a gynecologist. I thought maybe it was something Americans did. Now I realise–it’s middle aged women who go to the gynecologist. All my friends are doing it. Things just don’t work quite how they should anymore. Copy and repeat.

A few weeks back, on a Sunday night, another reality clicked. I’ve been part of the 6pm congregation at our church for coming on 15 years. When I joined, it was a room full of my peers. I found my first friends at church there. The other week a new girl said an enthusiastic ‘hello’ to me, and in the moment it struck me. She wasn’t saying hello because I was a potential friend, but because it was obvious to her I wasn’t. I was one of the ‘grown ups’ here. More her parent’s age than hers. And she worked that out by looking at me. I’m middle aged, and I look middle aged.

And so I find myself thinking about ageing more and more.

I’m kind of curious about the tweakment movement. Not exploring-my-options curious, but curious about why so many people are turning to botox, fillers and even surgery (face-lifts are on trend, have you heard?) The urge to hold back aging is strong! To look young, feel young, be young. To grasp for the expression of beauty that is youthfulness. Many (most?) women dye their hair. Most (all?) women remove the excess facial hair which appears with age. Are tweakments any different? Are they just new technologies to fulfil that age old desire?

Call me crazy, but there is something about it that resonates. I don’t want to look old. I don’t think I want to get old, at least not in terms of what it means for my body. The other day I stopped by my local community centre to pick up library books from the Book Nook (another sign of middle age, I LOVE that my local library has a Book Nook so close to my home–don’t get me started). As I passed by, an older woman struck up a conversation with me. She was walking to her car, and each step seemed to take an age. I’d collected my books and returned to my car before she made it up the path. Ageing had been hard on her.

I look into the years ahead and wonder what they might hold for me. More grey hair and wrinkles, for sure. But what about my health? How will my body hold up to the accumulation of years?  What illnesses might I face? There’s something about the whole thing that feels not right. Like it’s not how it’s meant to be. And in one sense, it’s not.

As it ages my body reminds me that death is in my future. Slowly but surely my body stops being fit for purpose, as joints wear out, and organs grow tired. Sure, there are things I can do to ease that process, but despite my best efforts, I won’t hold it back. Death will come one day. 

But my instinct is right. Death isn’t natural. It’s not how things ought to be. It’s not how it will always be. As my body begins its slow march toward death I look forward to something infinitely greater: my resurrection body! The longing I experience as I age isn’t really for my 20 year old body. It’s for a body that will never wear out, or age, or die. A body suitable for the age to come. A body powered by the Spirit. A body patterned on the body of the one who died my death, and rose the first fruits of the new creation. That’s what I want. That’s what I actually long for. And so as I grapple with the realities of middle age and beyond, that’s the body on which I’ll set my hope, trusting that the body that is sown “does not come to life unless it dies” (1 Cor 15:36).

I have heaps of friends who are aging much like me. Plenty of wrinkles and grey hairs to show for the passing years. I suspect it might be harder for the generation that follows, as ‘some women’ pursuing tweakments becomes ‘most women.’ It’ll be hard to look your age when no one else does! What will see the next generation of women through? The same as me: knowing Jesus, and setting their hope on the life found in him.

And in the meantime I’ll delight in my grey hair, thankful for each year God gives me, and the wisdom accumulated by his grace, until I meet him face to face.

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Amy Stopher—Regular Contributor

Amy grew up by the beach, the third of four sisters, and first learned the gospel from her parents. She taught high school students Politics and English, before studying Theology at Trinity Theological College in Perth, WA. Now Amy serves on the ministry team at Providence City, and delights in seeing women grow in their confidence to teach God’s word. Amy loves gardening, cooking for people and eating with them, and early mornings at the beach. She lives with her dog, Billie. She processes her thoughts on ministry, food, and gardening on her Substack.