Psalm 90:17
And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: and establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.
Today is my 43rd birthday and I'm keenly aware that time is running out. I am not, as far as I know, at death's door, but my days, as this blog so faithfully reminds me, are numbered. The band has already taken the field and played their tune in all likelihood and I'm actively engaged in the second half of what will end up being my life. This is the last year of what can reasonably be considered the young 40s. After this it's mid-40s and then 50. That half a century mark seems far off in one sense, but remarkably close in another. At 50 you are no longer a young man. You are a man. And on the verge of being an older man. Having so many kids has kept my head in the space of a young man with diapers to change and first steps to enjoy and birthday cakes and piggy-back rides. They have kept me young, but time has marched on. I am not dreading getting older, only realizing that the holding tank of time which I always assumed I had in front of me to work with and accomplish dreams and goals is beginning to show its lack like a balloon that is losing its air begins to reveal that it was once fuller. May God establish the work of my hands, both what I've done to this point, what I'm doing at the moment and what I have yet to do with the time He so graciously provides to me.
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