A new day stretches, and the sky wraps me soft like a baby blanket.
The air breathes damp and gentle against my face, sighs into my hair.
The cracked concrete of the driveway apron is still wet from the rain, and my children’s small handprints are barely visible in the eroding.
Yet Lake Abby spreads dry across the field.
Trees once dressed in gay array stand skeletal, bared in the falling, all once hidden now exposed in this seasonal stripping. I wonder if we’ll one day read this year’s drought in their heartrings.
Browning leaves litter the yard and porch steps–too numerous to count.
We’re expecting a couple days of 70-degree weather before it plummets to a high in the 40s.
And these days I’m counting days.
Days to the end of this series (7.)
Days to Thanksgiving (30.)
Days to the first anniversary of my mom’s passing (35.)
Days to our 41st wedding anniversary (42.)
Days until I leave for Nashville (44.)
Days until I leave for Haiti (46.)
Days until I return to Nashville (54.)
Days until I come home (55.)
Days until Christmas (63.)
Days until New Year’s Eve when I’m supposed to accomplish my word for 2012–order (69.)
If I keep counting, I could count myself right into the ground.
And I wonder…what if I knew I only had 69 days to live? Or less? What would I count then?
What would matter? What would I do differently?
Nothing, I hope. I just want Him to so imprint my life that my footprints fade into His.
I’m grateful that though God knows the count of our days, He never counts us out.
I’m grateful that He counts us worthy of His calling.
I’m grateful He never discounts our droughts or smallest struggle.
He wraps us in His mercy and grace and counts our steps but not our sins.
And we can count ourselves dead to sin and alive to Him.
God, teach us to number our days, to live wisely and well, to live in kairos time.
Add life to every moment while that moment has life.
May we count only on you, and count everything joy.
For as long as we have breath.