It just dawned on me that I’ve been cheated. For two years in a row.
Twice, in as many years, I’ve journeyed to
So for two years now I’ve been in a place where nobody tinkers with their clocks on the Saturday night before Halloween. For two years, while folks at home were bedded down for an extra hour of shuteye, I went to bed late and rose early with no extra winks in between.
In other words, for two Octobers now I have failed to reclaim the hour I surrendered way back in April. By my calculations I’m two hours short. I’ve been cheated!
I realize this may not sound like too big a deal to some of you, but when a fellow gets up past half a hundred years old and the clock seems to be ticking faster, he can’t afford to squander the few hours that remain, can he?
The longer I live, the more hours I seem to need. I’ve got more grandkids now who need to bounce on my knee. And new ones keep arriving! God keeps giving me more and more chances to touch hearts and lives. Through this column. In the Bible classes at the high school. Through books I’m writing. In seminars across the land. I can’t seem to run fast enough to enter all the doors He’s opening.
And that’s not all. Around God’s good world are scattered some majestic places I still intend to see someday. And others I hope to be see again, if He allots me enough hours to roam that far.
Today I attended the premature funeral of special lady whose retirement plans ended almost before they began. Weeping for her, many of us left the church freshly aware of our own mortality.
Calendar-buying time gets harder each year. It’s a lot more fun when you’re young, when you don’t even pause to wonder if this might be the last calendar you’ll need.
“Teach us to number our days,” the psalmist prayed. I’m ahead of him. I’m counting hours.