So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
Psalm 90:12
It wasn’t what we expected, of course, when we planned the big family camping trip. But it was remarkable, that although we’re spread out over hundreds of miles, we would just all happen to be together, literally within a few feet of each other, when the cell phone rang and we heard that news: Grandma had passed away. Within seconds, Dad had his dear wife, son, and daughter all gathered round him, arms holding him tight. Gratitude flowed as freely as our tears, so glad that we could all be together. Together to grieve, but together to rejoice too, remembering Grandma Mary and her 98 years of life.
We spent the week remembering, laughing and crying, praying, again just grateful to be together, providentially put out in a campground with no urgent tasks or jobs or places to go. Plenty of time for reflecting, and of course, enjoying Papa’s very favorite pastime: Boating.
Just a few days later, hundreds of us ladies gathered to consider Jesus’ Great Commission, looking together at His call to go and make disciples of all nations. We marveled at all that Jesus accomplished in His short life. So intentional. So deliberate. His time was short. He made his mark.
He influenced a few so significantly that the world was never the same.
During the conference, I was struck by a side conversation I had with another gal, who’d had a cancer scare.
I was struck, simply, by our smallness.
I am not the only one who can speak at a conference. I am not the only one who can love, feed, and clothe my children. I am not even the only one who could care for my husband. It is, perhaps, hard to swallow, but someone else could easily fill my spot.
And someday they will. For all of us. We come. We go.
The next day, we family gathered again, this time around an open grave. No matter how much we prepare ourselves emotionally for such events, it’s like a punch. We sat around her coffin as Jeff stood and led us in remembering her life, her strength and resolve, her determination and tireless devotion to her family. He drew our attention to the gospel, to our hope. To Jesus. It was captivating.
But then it was over. The service ended, and a few minutes later, her body was already lowered into the ground, dirt slowly covering her coffin.
Several hours later, I sat outside my parents’ house, sorting through the last of grandma’s stuff. Some jewelry, crochet needles, a quilt that still smelled like her. I tucked those few precious things into the back of our car, and left the rest in boxes in the back of Dad’s truck. Ready to go to Goodwill.
And just like that, she’s gone. Her belongings distributed. Her body buried.
Of course her memory lives on, and her spirit lives on. It’s not that I mean to ignore this glorious truth. But even at 98 years, longer than most of us will ever have … life’s still so short. In the grand scheme, even 98 years is just a breath.
So this morning, as curl up with coffee and read,
“The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty (or 98!) … they are soon gone, and we fly away… So teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90:10,12
I don’t like death. I don’t like grieving. I hate crying. But the events of this last week have been good for my soul. The brevity of life brings priceless perspective, and although we might be easily replaced, although others may easily fill our roles or perform our tasks, our lives will forever leave a mark.
How so?
On those around us.
The belongings will go to Goodwill someday. Someone else will fill our spot or do our job or carry on where we left off. But our significance is in our influence.
What mark are we leaving on those around us?
In the words of my brother, my grandma’s love wasn’t sappy or sentimental, but it was substantive. Sounds just like Jesus’ kind of love to me. And so we were all shaped, changed, bettered, in some way or other, by her substantive love.
Though life is a breath, I believe this is the heart of wisdom we need to gain: Our lives matter because they make a mark on everyone around us. Praying we will know our smallness, and yet also know our unique privilege of making a forever-mark on everyone around us.
May someone be shaped, changed, bettered, in some way or other, by your substantive love.
Thank you for reading.