Stepping out the baggage area doors upon all too familiar concrete, I mussed on the dash
between my “vacation” and what I would pick up from what I had laid down. The
dictionary defines the word "vacation" as "a period of time
devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation." Although, I suppose I imagine
it happens less often than not, it seems the ideal vacation comes to an end
just as my life I left behind begins to seem preferable. Yet even if it is with
reluctance that I let go of my last vacation time, I imagined why I must. By definition, a vacation is something that
must come to an end. To vacate life as I know it on a permanent basis would be
called something different entirely; wouldn’t it?
I knew the day I stepped on that plane and ship, that the two weeks of vacation would be short-lived, I would nevertheless enjoy those days. And I did! Even as they fade away into the calendar, I still remember them (often, joyfully, nostalgically, romantically). The fact that they were few does not hinder the impact they had on my “now” life. On the contrary, a few days or weeks, devoted to complete relaxation with Bettyann, my bride of fifty years, without everyday trappings are made much more valuable because of the multitude that are not.
And being honest, I know this to be true of life as well—though it is fleeting, it's making it all the more momentous.
This area of the Smokies is experiencing a drought. These first couple of hot days in July I'm saddened a bit to see the withering grass, fading flowers, vacation days in wet and cool of Alaska are gone, days are dwindling. It seems I am writting sympathy notes more often for classmate's families and paritioners past soon giving the asses of mother back to the earth, and face the fact that life cannot escape its end. Like the seasons I’ve lived through, my generation has sprung forth with great energy but will soon die away. Like all the vacations I’ve taken, so my days pass away into the calendar. If I refuse to look at any of these endings, I believe, I live foolishly; if I look only to their ends I will miss something about living.
The psalmist saw the importance of seeing life as it is and living in this reality. "Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life" Psalm 39:4. It is a prayer said with an eternal hope even as it is aware of the fleeting nature of time. Then he says in verse 7: "But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you."
I knew the day I stepped on that plane and ship, that the two weeks of vacation would be short-lived, I would nevertheless enjoy those days. And I did! Even as they fade away into the calendar, I still remember them (often, joyfully, nostalgically, romantically). The fact that they were few does not hinder the impact they had on my “now” life. On the contrary, a few days or weeks, devoted to complete relaxation with Bettyann, my bride of fifty years, without everyday trappings are made much more valuable because of the multitude that are not.
And being honest, I know this to be true of life as well—though it is fleeting, it's making it all the more momentous.
This area of the Smokies is experiencing a drought. These first couple of hot days in July I'm saddened a bit to see the withering grass, fading flowers, vacation days in wet and cool of Alaska are gone, days are dwindling. It seems I am writting sympathy notes more often for classmate's families and paritioners past soon giving the asses of mother back to the earth, and face the fact that life cannot escape its end. Like the seasons I’ve lived through, my generation has sprung forth with great energy but will soon die away. Like all the vacations I’ve taken, so my days pass away into the calendar. If I refuse to look at any of these endings, I believe, I live foolishly; if I look only to their ends I will miss something about living.
The psalmist saw the importance of seeing life as it is and living in this reality. "Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life" Psalm 39:4. It is a prayer said with an eternal hope even as it is aware of the fleeting nature of time. Then he says in verse 7: "But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you."
To see my life as it is, is to see that I am, as one theologian observed, "a vision of God and a mountain of dust." It is to embrace a fearful but hopeful thought that gaining one's life might somehow involve losing it, that endings though sometimes painful are often necessary, and that somehow to die is gain.
When Jesus stood with the disciples staring down the very hour he came to face, he told his friends that his time with them was coming to an end. He told them that his departing would usher in the Great Comforter, that he was leaving to prepare a place for them, and that in his coming and going the world would see that he finished exactly what the Father sent him to do. He reminded them that in the ending of this season was the budding hope of another. John records: "And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going." Jesus did not just go and so end his days as a human on earth; he went to prepare a place for an extended time together.
The psalmist writes, "Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints." Into this great mystery we can live our days, knowing that within the giving of a life to God and in the ending of a life given to God is a great and imperishable beginning.
