Numbering our days

Not always, but often I feel I live a charmed life. Carol and I walked the dog this morning and prayed briefly for each other. Sheri got up and told us about a dream -- doing a crossword puzzle in some foreign language class. Jenny was eating fudge -- a friend was doing a biology experiment, and had recruited her to eat "simple sugars" at breakfast today.

On the way to school, the kids talked about songs they had sung in Japan, and about the "Tupper-Kids Tunes" (or something like this) -- a tape we used to play in the car. They sang the chorus, and when Sheri threatened to sing it in school, Jenny said she wouldn't walk with her if she did.

I left the car with them today (Jenny has an appointment with a photographer, to make slides of her art work after school). As I took my bike off the rack, I watched them walk off to class, chatting happily about something or other.

There are at most a few dozen more mornings like this left, because Jenny will be done with high school basically at the end of next month, and will be out of the house in September.

Today's reading from the psalms includes this gem:

Teach us to number our days aright,

that we may gain a heart of wisdom

Psalm 90:12

I'm not sure if it means what I'm feeling now, but I'm intensely aware these days that life will soon change significantly. The first chick will leave the nest, to return only for visits. And it was just the other day, too, when we brought her home from the hospital.

We sure have a lot of happy memories, a great many blessings from God. But a door closes in a few months. Another blink, and they'll both be gone.

What are my hopes for the time I have left on earth? The temptation is to think there's always tomorrow, but one day there won't be. There's time to do what we need to do, there's time for needed rest, there's time for refreshment and relaxation and play. But none to waste.

Play is not waste. Play is good; waste is bad. A fine line.

posted 4/24