Lord, Remind Me How Fleeting...

“Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.

    Remind me that my days are numbered—

    how fleeting my life is.

You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand.

    My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;

    at best, each of us is but a breath.”

                                          Psalm 39, NLT

.     .     .     .     .

The days are flying by. I don't know how this is happening. Is it already February, Valentine's Day is over? Days are soaring past and I've barely gotten to dig into them deep. I will time to slow, to stop, just for a few extra moments, but the whole of the earth still moves and turns and spins.

This month marks seven years of trying. SEVEN. I whisper to myself, in disbelief: How did that happen? I feel as if I've blinked long ago and opened my eyes here. Who is this woman in the mirror? When did infertility become a part of life, a groove worn deep, as much a part of worship as singing, part of the daily grind like coffee? Nearly a decade of struggle. And I know how Abraham and Sarah lived, day to day with agonizing hope, unable to make time stop, if only for a moment. The world spins steady. You just put one foot in front of the other, because you have to, because you have no choice, because the sun rises bright every morning and the moon comes out to glow at night. You keep living, even if it hurts.

I turn 28 next month. I do the math. Have to count it again to be sure, and yes, one-fourth of my life. I breath deep. My heart pounds heavy. A fourth of my life?? How did that happen? No wonder it has become part of my life. The stranger turned acquaintance, turned friend, turned inseparable, just by merely sharing life together. Only I wish we'd never met.

And I read again, the statistics. I wallow in the numbers. Fertility decreases after age 30. I've only got two years. I know it's just a number. Only 2 characters. But isn’t it difficult enough already? I struggled hard at 21. O, God, can I really do this? I take a deep breath to stop the hyperventilating. This is all too much.

Lord, remind me how brief…my days are numbered…fleeting…a breath.

Seven years. Of waiting, trying, crying, fighting, wrestling. And I am tired. Exhausted. Not yet 30 and the long sleep sounds more than lovely, deliciously good.

The words of the Psalmist, David, are not meant to be depressing, lest we fall into sorrow and fear the end. They are a call to action. Look! We’ve only got so many days, hours, breaths. 

Moses writes a psalm too: Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom. Not to scare us, not to push us to complete our bucket list. But so that we may grow in wisdom.

I long to live fully, live the way life was created to be lived, what God, long ago, had wished for us. To live in wonder and grace, soaking up the goodness and glory, holding it all like the child's tiny fist tight around treasures found out walking. 

David continues: "And so, Lord, where do I put my hope? My only hope is in you."

And where is my hope?

This is the hardest lesson. The lesson squeezed out among tears and sweat and blood. It all comes down to this. A life's work, small wisdom gained: While the good and the lovely and the blessing is part of his plan, these things may not be part of His plan for me -- babies, motherhood, diapers and kindergarten.

I'm not certain of everything but I do know this: God would not want me to mourn what could have been, what was supposed to be, what might have been-- the if only -- when he has so much beauty and joy to show me here in the life that IS.

There is a season for everything under heaven. A season for mourning, sadness and sorrow -- living it and feeling it fully. And there is a time for action, movement and moving forward. A time for letting go.

Letting go of the if onlys.

This beautiful adventure really is a lesson in gratitude, stillness and the hunt for joy. To bask in the simple gifts showered upon us each ordinary day, in rain or shine, mourning or dancing.

If our days are truly numbered, how better to spend them than quietly at his feet?