make it count

What’s the big deal? It’s just another day. March 31st, 2014. What’s so special about it? What even makes it noteworthy?

 

I don’t know about you, but this is how I feel about a lot of my days. Ho hum. It’s just another day in a string of seemingly endless days. Endless days when nothing ever changes and life goes on in much the same manner as it did yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. 

 

Psalm 90:12 

¹² Teach us to number our days,
    that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Moses wrote this psalm. Moses who wasn’t known so much for his eloquence as his humility penned two lines in Psalm 90 that pack a powerful punch. 

¹² Teach us to number our days,
    that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

It’s so easy to take our days for granted, and, though, every once in a while we talk about the brevity of life in phrases such as, “You never know when your last day will come,” or “You’ve got to make each day count,” how many of us actually do—make our days count, that is.

If we truly never know when our last day on this earth will come, what are we doing in the meanwhile; taking our days for granted, wasting them, wishing them away?

One of my favorite songs by singer/songwriter, Chris Rice, succinctly says all that I am thinking but can’t express quite as eloquently. 

Every day is a journal page
Every man holds a quill and ink
And there's plenty of room for writing in
All we do and believe and think
So will you compose a curse
Or will today bring the blessing
Fill the page with a rhyming verse
Or some random sketching

I love the idea that life is like a journal page, because if you look at each day as a blessing it begs the question; what kind of days are you penning? 

It is interesting to me to watch life go by and days pass at an almost dizzying speed. In the midst of the everyday mundane, important and interesting things are happening whether I always recognize that or not.

When my kids were small every day seemed pretty much the same as the day before. In many ways, it felt as if nothing would ever change. But things did change—maybe in small inconsequential ways too minimal for the human mind to register. But though those days seemed endless they really weren’t. 

Each day did end. Both of my kids are school age now and it feels as though that happened in the blink of an eye.

If I could encourage you in any way today, it would be to remind you that life is short—too short and precious to waste any of it. Make the most of your days. Make them count. And just as Moses did, pray for a heart of wisdom—a heart that knows and understands that time is valuable and that each day is to be treasured and cherished because you truly never know when your last one will come.

¹² Teach us to number our days,
    that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

what's the point?

I’ve never understood the purpose of suffering. The age old question; how can a good God allow such suffering to go on in this world. Those doubts have filled my mind and heart at times, too.

Especially when I feel sick. It’s those times that I feel truly abandoned. It’s like God has left town and is never coming back. And I find myself walking in this spiritual dessert, wondering where the heck he is. 

‘God are you up there? Then, why aren’t you making me better? I hate being sick, please take this pain away.’

In fact, today I shed a few tears thinking about some of the hard things that have come my way. It just doesn’t seem fair. 

There was one particular moment in my life when my faith was sorely tested; a moment when I was ready to be done with God for good. 

This particular excerpt from, Pools, explains why this experience was a huge turning point in my life. It describes what happened the day after I’d gone psychotic—a day when it felt as though my world was crumbling all around me and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. 

I remember the visitors who came to see me – my husband, my mom, my aunt.  I was really embarrassed at this point, because I was beginning to come back to reality.  Bits and pieces of what had happened Sunday night (the night I was hospitalized) began to take shape in my mind.  I definitely knew that I was in a bad place, because I had done a very bad thing.  

There were a handful of people in the Crisis Center with me.  I really don’t recall having too much contact with anyone, but I do remember two people in particular.  They were both older men who seemed to be as confused as I was.   

One of the guys pulled out a Bible and started talking to me about the “code”.  He opened the page to a reference about numbers.  At that point I could have continued to sink deeper and deeper into my psychotic state.  But for some reason, in that moment, I made a conscious decision to ignore him.  I think it was God’s Spirit pointing the way out of the state I was in.  

The other guy, a dear man, had an obvious connection with God.  He didn’t talk about any codes, he just sang hymns, and talked to me a little bit about his faith. 

 At this point, my faith was being sorely tested, because now I was beginning to realize that all of the delusions I was having about God, faith, religion, were just that, delusions.   

There was a part of me, maybe most of me, that was ready to give up on faith all together.  How could God allow this horrible thing to happen to me?  How could he use religion, my faith, against me?  So when I was leaving I asked this guy whose name I don’t even know, but whose face I will never forget, to sing “Rock of Ages,” for me. 

        Rock of Ages, cleft for me,

        let me hide myself in thee;

        let the water and the blood,

        from thy wounded side which flowed,

        be of sin the double cure;

        save from wrath and make me pure. 

There were tears streaming down my face as I left the Crisis Center that day.  The words from “Rock of Ages” followed me down that long corridor leading me to a future that was so uncertain, so scary because I had no idea what it held for me.  

From that point on I made the decision to keep putting my faith in God, to keep trusting him, believing that even through this, he was going to be my “rock.”   As I began to get better, I clung to the words from that hymn.  “Rock of Ages cleft for me.  Let me hide myself in Thee.” 

a crazy joke

I made a joke the other day that made my husband laugh—a first for me. To mark the occasion I’m going to let you, the reader, in on it. Conveniently enough, my post for today will also focus on the topic of this joke. 

My husband and I went to a Husker football game this past weekend. If you know me, you wouldn’t be surprised to find out that I’m really not that in to football. But I have to admit, despite the chill in the air it was fun to be a part of the mania in the stadium that day. For the most part, I just enjoyed sitting with my main squeeze and taking in all of the sights. 

There were a few things I did not enjoy, the obvious one being that I was too far away from the restroom. But there was another thing that kind of got to me—the cat-calling going on all around us, which of course, is nothing new to anyone who’s ever been to a Husker football game. 

At times the derision was mild mannered, “Man, I can’t believe he dropped that pass.” But sometimes the cat-calling got downright nasty—the cover-your-children’s-ears kind of nasty. For the most part, we were surrounded by the more benign cat-callers.

After awhile, however, I did get a bit frustrated with all of it; even the mild mannered calls were grating on my nerves. That’s when I turned to my husband and joked, “I didn’t know so many of these fans played college football.” At first he gave me a puzzled look. Then catching on to what I was saying he responded, “Yea, I didn’t realize that so many of the players were female.” 

I suppose if I have to explain it, it’s really not that good of a joke. But, indulge me anyway. And if you’re totally lost, wait for my analogy coming up in the next paragraph. The point I was trying to make, of course, is that age-old problem of everyone thinking that they can do the other guy’s job better. On game days it is an ideology that runs rampant across the country. 

And it bugs me to no end that people think like that. It reminds me of a good quote from one of my mom’s  favorite novels, To Kill a Mockingbird. Remember when Atticus Finch told his daughter, Scout, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.”

Even if you’ve never read the book, I think the meaning is pretty clear here. In a lot of ways it’s a bit like, “Don’t judge a book by its cover.” 

The Mockingbird quote has stayed with me all of these years. And, while I haven’t always practiced the principle, it’s one I strive to remember when I’m tempted to judge someone on the sole basis of what my eyes can see.

Take, for example, a situation we’ve all encountered; the token toddler freaking out in the grocery store. When I encounter one of these not-so-pleasant situations, the first thought that I’m tempted with, is ‘What a bad mother, she can’t even control her own child.’

But what do I really know about a situation that only my eyes can see. What if in reality the kid is screaming because Mom said, ‘No,’ to a toy he really wanted, and she knows that giving in will only make the next tantrum worse. I think we’d all agree that the right thing for her to do is stand firm until Junior learns that Mommy’s not backing down.

To the outsider the whole scene is abominable. But could they have seen what transpired moments earlier they’d understand that while it is ugly, it’s a natural part of parenting. Mom is teaching her child; you can’t always get what you want when you want it.

Let’s go back to that football game and the last couple of penalties that gave Illinois an extra touchdown. Yea, it was a coaching mistake. But what if the coaches were simply trying to get as many “new guys” in as they could and in the confusion, bad things happened. Just because bad things happened, did they make the wrong decision? I guess I’ll leave that up to you. 

By the way, if you think you could have done better, be sure and send me a picture of the last college football team you coached. I’d love to see it. I’m sure you were amazing.