I suppose that one of the commonalities of our aging process is our desire to be young again. More and more frequently, I must confess, I find myself remembering some aspect of my youthful prowess and thinking, “If I could only be young again armed with the wisdom of my years, I’d be invincible!”
Actually, one of the great benefits of ageing is the myriad of opportunities given us to learn from our past mistakes and stumbles. So, wishing for youth and wisdom absent from any ills, missteps, or mistakes is a contradiction to the reality that it is through our stumbles that we learn, grow, and ultimately become wise. This week’s tale is a reminder of this truth. I discovered it in William J. Bennett’s book, The Moral Compass.
At Apolda, it is told, there can be found a magic mill. In appearance it is very much like a huge coffee mill, but it is turned from beneath instead of from above. Two large beams form the handles, by which two stout serving men keep the mill in motion.
And what kind of grain is ground in the mill, you may ask? I will share with you what was shared with me, though I cannot guarantee its veracity. Old people are thrown in at the top, wrinkled and bent, without hair and without teeth, and when they come out below they are quite young and pretty again, with cheeks as rosy as an apple.
One turn of the great mill does it all. Crick, crack, it goes, and the whole magical change is made. And when those that have become young again are asked if it is not a painful process, they answer: “Painful? Oh no! On the contrary, it is quite delightful! It is just like waking in the morning after a good night’s rest, to see the sun shining in your room, and to hear the trees rustling and the birds twittering in the branches.”
A long way from Apolda, as our story continues, there once lived an old woman who had heard many of her contemporaries speak of the magic mill. She had been very happy in her youth, and she wished above all things to be young again. So, at length, she made up her mind to journey to Apolda to grind her old age away. The journey was long and hard, for the road there led up and down many steep hills and through boggy meadows and over a stony desert where there was nothing blocking the blistering sun.
By and by the old woman made it to Apolda and stood before the magic mill. There were a number of robed priests who tended to the pilgrim who were seeking their lost youth.
“I want to become young again,” the old woman said to one of the priests, who was quietly sitting on a bench puffing rings of smoke into the still blue air.
“And, pray, what is your name?” asked the priest.
“The children call me Mother Redcap,” was the answer.
“Sit down, then, on this bench, Mother Redcap,” and the priest went into the mill and, opening a thick book, returned with a long strip of paper.
“Is that my bill?” asked the old lady.
The priest smiled and answered, “Oh no, Mother. We charge nothing here; only you must sign your name to this agreement.”
“And what, pray sir, am I agreeing to?” replied the old lady.
The priest again smiled and answered: “This paper contains a list of all the follies you ever committed. It is quite thorough and complete, even to the present hour. Before you can become young again you must pledge yourself to commit them all over again in the very same order as before. To be sure, there is a very long list. From the time you were sixteen until you were thirty, there was at least one folly every day and on Sunday there were often two; then you improved a little until you were forty; but after that the follies have been plentiful enough, I can assure you.”
The old lady sighed and said: “I know that what you say is all true And I hardly think it will repay one to become young again at such a price.”
“Neither do I think so, dear lady,” answered the priest. “Very few indeed could it ever repay. And so we have an easy time of it–seven days of rest every week! The mill is always still, as least of late years.”
“Now, couldn’t we strike out just a few things?” pleaded the old woman, with a tap on the priest’s shoulder. “Suppose we leave off about a dozen things that I remember with sorrow. I wouldn’t mind doing all the rest.”
“No, no!” answered the priest. “We are not allowed to leave off anything. The rule is, all or none.”
“Very well, then, I shall have nothing to do with your old mill,” she said, turning away.
When she reached her home again, the good folk who came to greet her exclaimed: “Why, Mother Redcap, you have come back looking older than when you left! We never thought that there was any truth in the story about that magic youth mill!”
Mother Redcap coughed a little dry cough, and answered, “What does it matter about being young again? If one will only try to make it so, old age can be as beautiful as youth.”
And so, it is so.
Therefore, we are not discouraged; rather, although our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this momentary light affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to what is seen but to what is unseen; for what is seen is transitory, but what is unseen is eternal. – 2 Corinthians, 16-18
Have an AWE-full Weekend!
William “Bill” Bacque