When I was growing up, I thought I could live forever. Forty seemed old. Death seemed so far away that I thought I could never reach it. I am thirty-five years old now. Two of my brothers went to be with Jesus at 38. My uncle at 45. Six of my babies. He gives and He takes away. To take away, He had to have given. In this moment, I am thankful for the giving.
As I write this, my beloved husband is in California burying his uncle. Uncle Terry. He had a life-giving personality. He made you feel loved, welcome, and like the most important person in the room. He was a gift to us all. He was someone that you would want to emulate. He was just 59 years old.
Over the month of February, I had been thinking heavily about the brevity of life. What exactly is the legacy I want to leave behind. What can we rid ourselves of that is meaningless? As I asked for wisdom in all of this that makes no sense to me, I heard a gentle internal whisper.
"Pursue Christ. Love people."
As I was putting up some drywall mud in the guest room , I came across this verse I had painted on the wall. A divine appointment.
"Teach me to number my days, so I may present to you a heart of wisdom."
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