Genesis 49:33  When Jacob had finished giving instructions to his sons, he drew his feet up into the bed, breathed his last and was gathered to his people. (NIV)

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Two of my favorite books from the last couple of years are Rembrandt Is in the Wind and Van Gogh Has a Broken Heart by Russ Ramsey. At the risk of robbing you of the punch this quote delivers before you read the books, listen to this part of Ramsey’s conclusion to Van Gogh Has a Broken Heart:

Think about the physiology of growing old. If the Lord grants us many years, the way to eternal glory will include the dimming of our vision, the slowing of our bodies, the dulling of our minds, and the diminishing of our appetites. It’s a path that requires us to loosen our grip on this world, preparing us to leave it before we leave it. Is this not mercy? (p. 136).

These words gobsmacked yours truly. A few days after reading them, my bride, our daughter, her husband, and two of our three granddaughters left on vacation to one of our favorite places. Every time I drive into that village, I remember some of the significant life events connected to our visits.

One of our most influential and deeply-loved church members died shortly after we arrived there twenty years ago. A pilot friend and his wife arranged transportation for me to return home to officiate the funeral, and get back for the remainder of our vacation. That was an epic journey full of adventures. 

I returned to the ski village around midnight. Too much caffeine and adrenaline depletion were competing for my remaining energy and focus. I stood on the balcony in temperatures far too cold for a native Texan. The full moon and stars, so brilliant and so much closer than normal, held me in their silent song. Psalm 19 came to my mind. 

My phone rang. My wife wondered where I was. She was pleased to know I had arrived and was also confused as to why one who does not enjoy sub-freezing temperatures would linger outside on such an evening. I was storing core memories. I was remembering our dear friend who had passed away and her family, whom we loved so much. And, of course, I pondered my own existence. 

The third brief sleep session in a row was followed by an invigorating morning on the slopes right up to the point where I wrenched my neck in a painful tumble and received a concussion. 

Six weeks later, I was still dealing with the side effects of the concussion and endured an MRI that included an asthma attack without the ability to turn to my inhaler for relief. 

There in the chronological middle of my life, I pondered my death. 

Several hospitalizations and way too many doctor visits occurred over the next few years. Several medical professionals told me I would have to move from that part of Texas to get better. As one doctor bluntly, but kindly, stated, “If you don’t leave here, you will become sicker and sicker and die young.” 

Message received. 

The last twenty years of my life have been the best years of my life. Moving and all the details God engineered to get us here is an amazing story. I will retire from my job in three years. The next three years will be my very best in this role. One day, I will follow Jacob’s example, and not Isaac’s. I will not quit before I’m done. My last words, spoken or written, will be words of blessing. 

That’s the plan, anyway. God may have other plans, and that’s okay. Our Father in heaven knows best. 

Today is an adventure. Every day is. Yesterday was one of the best yet. It was full of meaningful conversations. A friend from South Africa is in the air headed our way as I write these words. It will be a wonderful treat to host him this weekend. 

As you peer into the possibilities of this day, how will you pray? As you move from responsibility and event to each succeeding appointment, how will you experience God and help others do the same? The next moment may be our best ever. 

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I will expect God’s gracious presence in every moment.

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Our Father, as one of our timeless hymns expresses, this is your world. You fill it with meaning, purpose, and adventure. Don’t let us miss your goodness and grace, your opportunity and fulfillment. Prepare us now for the wonder ahead. Amen.