I brought glory to you here on earth by completing the work you gave me to do. [John 17:4 (NLT)]
The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of 60 minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is. [C. S. Lewis]
“Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives,” goes the introduction to the NBC soap opera Days of Our Lives. Since that show has aired more than 13,000 episodes since 1965, something tells me the show’s hourglass has been flipped over several times. While that hourglass keeps getting turned, the hourglass that numbers the days of our lives is glued to the table—once the sand runs through to the other side, it’s all over. Moreover, none of us have any idea how large our individual hourglass happens to be. The days of our lives are both finite and unknown.
If a king said we could keep all the gold we could count in a day, I imagine we’d all find the time to diligently count those shiny coins from sunrise to sunset. Time—we all have it, we all waste it and, chances are, we all complain about not having enough of it. Nevertheless, we’d find time to count that gold for an earthly king! Why, I wonder, do we (or at least I) have so much difficulty finding time to do the real King’s work?
Jesus never seemed rushed, was willing to be interrupted and always found time to pray yet He managed to complete the work God gave him to do. Have we even started?
Don’t say you don’t have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein. [H. Jackson Brown, Jr.]
It’s that time of year again. Signs in stores say it, holiday lights in yards and on rooftops proclaim it, and we might greet one another in church with it. We send out cards with its message, sing of it and, yet, we’re bereft of it. We think we’ll have it when our chores are done, the cards mailed, the house cleaned, the tree decorated, the lights up, the cookies baked, the gifts purchased, the packages wrapped, and the bills paid. We sure we’ll get it if we reach our destination without delay or losing luggage or once our children arrive safely home. As long as everyone stays healthy, no food gets burnt, nothing is broken, politics isn’t discussed, no one gets drunk, and the back-ordered gift arrives in time, we’re sure to have it then. Yet, even when everything goes as planned (and believe me it won’t), it seems to escape us.
We just received one of those beautiful edible arrangements of fruit. The fruit was displayed as if we had an enormous flower arrangement. It seemed a pity to pull off the enormous ripe strawberries or take the melon balls from the centers of the pineapple slices but it was necessary if we were ever going to truly appreciate it. Fruit is meant to be eaten and that much fruit was meant to be shared before it spoiled. As I packed it up (all the while tasting as I worked), I couldn’t help but think of another gift of fruit—the fruit of the Spirit. Like juicy strawberries and sweet melon, it’s meant to be shared. Moreover, the Holy Spirit’s fruit doesn’t need to be refrigerated, can’t spoil, and is even more beautiful than real fruit, no matter how artfully arranged.
As earth’s first gardener, God knew a thing or two about agriculture. Recognizing that continually working a field depletes the soil of valuable nutrients, He commanded the Israelites to let their land remain fallow every seven years. During this yearlong land Sabbath, no produce was to be planted, pruned or harvested and any food that grew by itself, such as grapes or figs, could not be harvested, sold or stored. God promised to grant an abundant crop in the sixth year so there would be plenty of food to carry the people through the Sabbath year and well into the next years until a new crop was harvested. Considered ownerless, the produce that grew by itself could be eaten by anyone or fed to the animals. The Sabbath year was a test of faith; it required the Israelites to acknowledge God as the true master of the land, to trust Him for His provision, and to share with those less fortunate.
While visiting family in California, I joined my daughter-in-law and her walking group on their morning hike. The leader advised us that it was about a six mile walk—what she didn’t mention was it was all uphill for the first three plus miles. Although we started off together, the group quickly fragmented. The leader and some exceptionally fit and fast walkers were in the lead. I was in the middle group; unfamiliar with the area, I was not about to lose sight of our leader and risk getting lost. Behind us was another group and, bringing up the rear, were three stragglers who abandoned us within the first twenty minutes. After an hour of walking uphill, we finally reached level ground and heaved sighs of relief. The dozen remaining walkers stopped briefly while our leader explained the rest of the course—about a mile more of climbing before starting the descent back to the parking lot. At that point, mutiny occurred and more than half the group decided to take an easier and mostly downhill route back. Used to the flatlands of southwest Florida, I was happy to join my daughter-in-law in her desertion.
