For a good chunk of one’s life, the years come and go, marked by birthday celebrations along the way. Some are considered significant milestones—18, 21, 30, 50, and so on.
I just had one of those milestones last week, joining the ranks of the Medicare Mob on May 27. The day itself (Saturday) passed rather uneventfully. Went to the grandson’s soccer game in the morning…hiked a couple of miles to reach a three-month goal of 75 miles…planted some tomatoes and bean seeds in the garden…. Nothing really “birthday” worthy. Well, I did get a card in the mail and tons of Facebook greetings ????.
Sunday was another story. Not much was said at church in the morning. A couple of people wished me a Happy Birthday, but that’s it.
Until I got home.
Driving the street to our house, I got a block away and could see the yard and house. My older brother, younger brother, and his wife had descended on the place while we were in church and strung banners and streamers, hung balloons, and set up signs letting the entire neighborhood know I’ve hit the “winter” of life. They greeted me with hugs, “Happy Birthday!” and “Aha! Gotcha!” I was truly surprised.
We have an evening service at our church, and I was pleased to see a good crowd for a holiday weekend. And just before the service, my sister-in-law and her husband came in from the Chicago burbs…said it was about time they actually visited the church, since they often watch on livestream.
I’m pretty naïve, I guess, but at the end of the service when the chairman of deacons interrupted me and said there was a little birthday party for me in the Fellowship Hall, I was truly caught off guard—never suspected a thing. The joy everyone got out of doing that…the cards and sentiments expressed in them…the heartfelt well-wishes—all made me appreciative of how blessed I am! I serve a good, thoughtful flock.
As it turns out, Monday ended up being the day to celebrate with the family. Our children and theirs came over, my sister had been in town all weekend, grilled some burgers, delighted in Chris’s strawberry-rhubarb pie (in lieu of cake!), opened gifts. My eldest grandchild devised a little scavenger hunt for me to find his gift—a wordsearch that he created with a little help from his mom.
Was a great ending to a memorable birthday weekend.
Perhaps it’s just me, but it seems these later-in-life milestones tend to make us a bit more aware of time than, say, hitting the big 3-0.
Thirty-five years ago, I was quite eager to reach my third decade. In pastoral ministry, there’s a huge difference between having a pastor who’s 29 and one who’s 30. A 29-year-old is too young, green, inexperienced, not to be taken too seriously. But one in his 30s—even if barely—has certainly reached a level of maturity that lends credibility.
That’s the perception, anyway.
Nevertheless, when I turned 30, it never occurred to me to count how many days I’ve been on the planet. And how many were left, should I reach fourscore years? Hah! When you’re 30, 80 seems an eternity away!
Next thing you know, you’re getting bombarded with Medicare Supplement ads.
And 80 is just around the corner.
A couple of years ago, I began a daily ritual of numbering my days, prompted by Psalm 90:12—
So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
So on my birthday, I wanted to make sure my numbers were on track. Now, you can sit down and do the math, multiplying the number of years by 365, factoring in Leap Years, and so on. Or you can avoid the stereotype of being a technology-challenged old coot and Google,
“How many days since May 27, 1958”
And less than a second later, “23,741” pops up on the screen (at least it did on May 27, 2023). One site elaborates further. May 27, 1958, was…
- 780 months, 3 days ago
- 3,392 weeks ago
- 569,856 hours ago
- 34,191,360 minutes ago
- 2,051,481,600 seconds ago
…and it informs me I was born on a Tuesday.
Honestly, though, I’m more interested in looking in the other direction. How many days until I reach 80, should I do so? As of my birthday, it was 5,479 days…179 months…782 weeks…131,413 hours…and so on.
It’s kind of a sobering exercise to compare those numbers, isn’t it?
Can then understand the “why” behind the psalmist’s prayer, no?
“Teach us to number our days…” – that number is reduced by 1 daily. And in my case, the number left (should I reach 80…or even 90!) is a fraction of what’s been lived!
“…that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” If I live conscious of that ever-dwindling number, it should compel me to seek to invest well each tick of the clock and page turned in my planner.
And what might that entail?
Pages could be written, I suppose, but let’s allow our Maker to speak in broad terms that provide ample areas for us to flesh out:
What man is there who desires life and loves many days, that he may see good? Keep your tongue from evil and your lips from speaking deceit. Turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it.
– Psalm 34:12-14
Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers.
– Psalm 1:1-3
Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day. Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies, for it is ever with me.
– Psalm 119:97-98
He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?
– Micah 6:8
So much more could be said to expand upon the above, but that should suffice to get me headed in the direction of well-invested days, however many more there may be.
