Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. [Psalm 139:16 (NIV)]
By living in Florida, we’ve escaped the polar vortex and winter’s ice and snow. Regardless of where we live, however, there’s no escaping the winter of our lives. When we roll out of bed with assorted aches, need our cheater specs to read the paper, become intimate friends with ibuprofen, know the day of the week from our pill boxes, and nervously compare our ages with those on the obituary page, it becomes painfully obvious that, while able to flee from winter’s frigid weather, there’s no dodging the winter season of life.
In spite of a few complaints, I’m reasonably content with my winter. I’d never want to give up the confidence, wisdom, peace and perspective that come in this end season of life. Nevertheless, I’m sorry to say farewell to the vitality, enthusiasm and freshness of spring; the beauty, growth and intensity of summer; and the productivity, abundance, and fulfillment of autumn. As rewarding as it is to see my children and grands develop and mature, it saddens me to see the toll those same years have taken on other people I know and love. Winter has been downright cruel to many of them. Sadly, some of those I loved didn’t even make it to this season of appreciated blessings. They never had the opportunity to sit quietly and read to a grand or grow old with the one they loved. There are gaps in my heart where they lived and my memories of them will never quite fill those holes. Nevertheless, I feel blessed to have made it this far.
We thank you, God, for the seasons of life. Help us recognize the beauty and joy of each one. Give us the wisdom and serenity to accept that time passes, changes take place, seasons are unpredictable, heartbreak happens, health is precarious, and farewells are unavoidable. Reconcile us to the transformations that occur in each of life’s seasons. May we always remember that, while everything has a season, there is no one season in which we’ll have everything.
Summer ends, and autumn comes, and he who would have it otherwise would have high tide always and a full moon every night. [Hal Borland]
They were sailing in the Sea of Galilee, a body of water notorious for sudden violent storms. At least four of the disciples were fishermen; did none of them question Jesus about the possibility of squalls or rough waters? Jesus, being God and omniscient, surely knew a storm was brewing and yet He told the men to take the boat across the sea. As the squall came rolling in, the disciples fought the waves. While they frantically reefed the sails and bailed water, Jesus calmly slept on a cushion in the boat’s stern. To the terrified disciples it seemed as if He didn’t care that they were going to drown.
Hoping to get a good cardio workout, I’d ramped up the resistance and programmed the machine for a variety of hills, some of which were real killers. Whenever I glanced down at the screen, I groaned at what lay ahead of me. No matter where I was in the program, I was already looking ahead and dreading the next big challenge. Every time I looked at the timer, I lamented the length of time remaining for this self-inflicted torture. After placing my towel over the screen, the workout seemed easier. No longer able to see the hills or time remaining, I stopped dreading the next challenge and the ones after that. I just pumped away, secure in the knowledge that, eventually, my workout would be over.
“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.
When I was young, back in the 1950s, sex education pretty much consisted of some talk about bees pollinating flowers. Married couples on television didn’t sleep in the same bed and husbands always seemed completely surprised when wives announced a baby was arriving. As a little girl, I naively thought marriage (not intercourse) was what produced babies and that God put babies in a woman’s tummy once she was married.
“It’s a masterpiece!” I exclaim while admiring my grand’s latest creation before hanging it on the refrigerator. In actuality, it is only a masterpiece in my grandmother’s eyes; to anyone else it is just a toddler’s effort with crayons and stickers. A real masterpiece is a work done with exceptional skill—it’s a supreme intellectual or artistic achievement. “Masterpiece” often describes an artist’s best work. While my grands need to hone their skills before creating a true masterpiece, we, my friend, are God’s masterpieces—His best work.
Devotions of the Heart 