Isaiah 46:4 (NIV)
4 Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

God reminds the people that He has been with them, sustained them and protected them and will continue to do so even through their old age.

The prayer below is by Robertson McQuilkin, president emeritus of Columbia International University. For those assured of their salvation, Dr. McQuilkin reminds that there is no fear of the eternal life to come, but instead a fear of what is left behind. In Hebrews we are told -Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

It's sundown, Lord. The shadows of my life stretch back into the dimness of the years long spent. I fear not death, for that grim foe betrays himself at last, thrusting me forever into life: life with you, unsoiled and free.

But I do fear. I fear the dark specter may come too soon� or do I mean too late? That I should end before I finish or finish, but not well. That I should stain your honor, shame your name, grieve your loving heart. Few, they tell me, finish well. . . Lord, let me get home before dark.

The darkness of a spirit grown mean and small, fruit shriveled on the vine, bitter to the taste of my companions, burden to be borne by those brave few who love me still?

No, Lord, let the fruit grow lush and sweet, a joy to all who taste; Spirit-sign of God at work, stronger, fuller. Brighter at the end. Lord, let me get home before dark.

The darkness of tattered gifts, rust-locked, half-spent, or ill-spent, A life that once was used of God now set aside? Grief for glories gone or fretting for a task God never gave. Mourning in the hollow chambers of memory, Gazing on the faded banners of victories long gone? Cannot I run well until the end? Lord, let me get home before dark.

The outer me decays� I do not fret or ask reprieve. The ebbing strength but weans me from mother earth and grows me up for heaven.

I do not cling to shadows cast by mortality. I do not patch the scaffold lent to build the real, eternal me. I do not clutch about me my cocoon, vainly struggling to hold hostage a free spirit pressing to be born.

But will I reach the gate in lingering pain�body distorted, grotesque? Or will it be a mind wandering untethered among light fantasies or grim terrors?

Of your grace, Father, I humbly ask. . . Let me get home before dark.