Her name is Hazel. And up until about two years ago, I lived right next door to her. Upon moving to Oklahoma, we became fast friends. She was home all day, I was home all day. She liked to watch HGTV, I liked to watch HGTV. She liked to try the foods I made, I liked to make them. Did I mention that she’s 82? The 44-year difference between us didn’t matter. I liked listening to her. I liked laughing with her. I liked hearing stories about her life. I liked getting her opinion about things. And contrary to public opinion, I was usually the one who had to hear the honey, I’ve got to get going now speech, not her. Pashaw. I find myself enjoying people who are older than me. Maybe it’s because I’m getting older and realizing that I don’t know as much as I thought I did. Maybe it’s because I’m walking new territory as a mother and need all the advice I can get. Maybe it’s because I want to stay married to the love of my life, all of my life. Maybe it’s because I want to know how to keep my love for Jesus strong when I’m well into my 80’s. Or maybe it’s all of those things. All I know is that I like old people. I like their stories. I like how they repeat their stories. Over and over and over again. I don’t mind. My advice for the day is this: Listen to old people. They have a lot to share.