As I drove up to the assisted living facility, my friend was ready and waiting. It was Tues­day, our breakfast day. With some effort he pulled his aged legs into the car, placed the cane between us, and let me fasten his seat belt. Then, buckled in, he sighed quietly, "Nothing gets easier."

My quiet, unassuming friend re­membered other days—back when he was a strong, vibrant young man. At our breakfasts we could sometimes coax stories out of him about being a pilot in World War II. Or he might share with us some memories he enjoyed from ­decades of playing golf. He had lived a healthy, active, productive life.

But now his legs and the body that had served him well for nearly a century had become unsteady and unreliable. Sim­ple tasks had become challenging. The sigh that came was understandable: "Nothing gets easier."

His gentle sigh wasn't a protest; it wasn't a grumbling complaint. My friend was simply stating a fact. What countless generations have experienced was now his lot; he accepted it—with grace and gentleness and a trusting contentment. My friend had learned what the apostle Paul learned—to be content in every situation.

Nothing gets easier. But by an interesting twist of God's grace, we can grow spiritual fruit: patience, kindness, gentleness, contentment.