In the Christian tradition, today is Holy Saturday, the observance that ends the Lenten season, the day between Good Friday and Easter Sunday, the day between Jesus’s crucifixion and resurrection. It is also my birthday and I am 22,281 days old.
When I calculated my age in days, tears filled my eyes. I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect any kind of response at all. I just thought it would be interesting to know. This means if I live to the average life expectancy of a female in the United States, I have 8,766 days left. Of course, there are no guarantees I’ll make it; there is no way to know if I’ll exceed it.
I reached for the scripture that tells me to number my days, to remember why it’s important. “Teach us to number our days,” Moses prays in the oldest Psalm, Psalm 90, “that we may get a heart of wisdom.” (ESV) Every translation expresses it differently —
(NLT) Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.
(MSG). Oh! Teach us to live well! Teach us to live wisely and well!
(CSB). Teach us to number our days carefully so that we may develop wisdom in our hearts.
which helps me to examine this diamond’s brilliance from many facets.
We take our days for granted when we’re young, don’t we? That’s why Moses begs to be taught, to learn. Time…circumstance…the Holy Spirit’s leading will all conspire to one day help us understand the value of each day.
Years ago, my friend, Rich, expressed a thought that initially rattled me because of its sobering truth: “I’ve lived more yesterdays than tomorrows.” I wanted to smack him right then and there, but only because it was true.
Last year I celebrated a milestone birthday, and a sweet co-worker decorated every square inch of my office with streamers and signs and balloons, oh my! I loved it. A year later, unbelievably, a remnant of her handiwork remains; a sole balloon. A little shriveled, floating in a corner, a quiet reminder to number my days carefully, to realize the brevity of life, to live well. To freaking celebrate. When I have appointments, people often ask if I just celebrated my birthday, and I grin and say, “Not exactly…” and explain as long as the balloon is floating, I’m celebrating.
Celebrating our age is resistance.
For most of us, life will be hard at times. We suffer and people we love suffer. There are moments I curse God and wonder how a good God allows the intense pain I see all around me. I hate Christian platitudes and feeling gaslit. I doubt and wrestle and envy others who don’t.
And, yet, somehow, God is still so kind to me, delivering evidences of His love for me in the sweetest of ways, reminding me of the hope I have in Jesus. As is often the case with me and Him, he did this through a series of people over the past week, ranging in age from eight to 92. And then, last night, He gifted me with a Divine Appointment, a random connection with a new friend that ended with us realizing we share the same birthday! There was something so shocking in our discovery, in the way our conversation meandered, that it pointed right back to God.
This morning, sipping coffee from an exquisite gold-rimmed cup from Mama’s wedding china, I’m celebrating my 22,281st day and thanking God for
His unconditional love for me despite my unlovability
His forgiveness of my sins
His patience
His mercy
His grace
His faithfulness
His redemptive plan
His revealing Word
My kindreds in Scripture
My kindreds in life
A church whose people always point me to Jesus and the beauty of the Gospel
The people who encourage and inspire me daily
My precious family
I’m not asking to understand what I don’t understand; I’m asking God to teach me to number my days that I may get a heart of wisdom.
Today is holy. But isn’t everyday?
