17,167 Days

I turn 47 today.  I have lived 17,167 days.  Actually, I’ve lived longer than that since human life doesn’t begin at birth.  I may live another 30 days or 30 years.  Only time will show. 

To the young, 47 is old, and to the old, 47 is young, but for me there is likely more sand in the bottom of the hourglass now than in the top.  When I was 17, opportunities were endless, or at least they appeared so, but 30 years later the horizon has grown smaller, and happiness comes from finding fruition in particular choices made. 

Long life does not appeal to me.  In visits to hospitals and nursing homes, I see the future.  More than one elder has said to me, “Don’t get old.”  As if we have a choice on the matter.  

The Stoics taught me that use, not length, marks a good life.  I have used my days pretty well.  When I finished a Doctor of Ministry degree, a parishioner said, “Congratulations on reaching your terminal degree before becoming terminal.”  I’ve done more than some people, and less than others.  Like most people, I’m in the middle of the herd. 

I once wanted to write a book, but I’m not that talented.  I write on a blog instead — it satisfies the writing itch and suits my abilities.  I once longed to go to Europe and look at old things, but then it occurred to me that the earth I live on is far older, as is the sun that warms my body each day.  The lure of seeing castles lessened after that. 

The Christian religion makes a distinction between bios, or biological life, and zoe, the eternal life of God.  Bios decays and dies, but zoe grows in us and awaits resurrection.  “Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.”  Whatever resurrection will be, it is a new canvas with colors beyond my imagination.  I am content to know that in life and in death, I belong to God.

As I pass this minor milestone, it pleases me to know I’m loved by my wife, wonderfully, by my congregation and by God.