This past week, with the heartbreaking passing of my great-grand niece, I was reminded of something I have always known deep down: I am, without a doubt, an elder now.
In truth, I’ve been an elder of my family since the moment I was born. My parents were older when they had me, already blessed with full-grown children and even grandchildren. From the outside, I was the “baby.” But from the inside, I carried the weight of being the next branch in a tree whose roots were already deep and seasoned.
As the years passed, one by one, I began to lose my elders. My grandmother transitioned when I was 17. By 22, I had already lost three father figures, including my own dad. In time, my mother, aunts, uncles, godparents, and family friends followed. They all lived full lives, but because I was born on the latter end of theirs, I did not get the chance to experience the fullness of time I longed for with them.
Now, as I raise my own children with Oji, I see the pattern repeating in a different way. We were older parents when our little tribe was formed. That fact grounds me in gratitude and responsibility—gratitude for the time we’ve been given and responsibility to make that time as abundant and healthy as possible.
And here lies the lesson I am still learning: though at heart I am a caregiver, I must first give care to myself. I cannot pour into my children, my family, or my community if my own well runs dry. Self-care isn’t selfish—it is sacred stewardship of the life and legacy God has entrusted to me.
“Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit… you are not your own; you were bought at a price. Therefore honor God with your bodies.” — 1 Corinthians 6:19-20 (NIV)
I honor the lives of my elders by extending my own, through rest, through wisdom, through health, through prayer. I honor the future by caring for the vessel God has given me. Legacy is not only about memory—it is about presence.
Affirmation
Today, I choose to honor my legacy by taking care of myself. I embrace the mantle of elder with gratitude and strength. I give myself permission to rest, to breathe, and to live fully, so that those who come after me may inherit not just my words, but my presence.
© 2025, Lela Fagan. All rights reserved.
