Thursday, February 25, 2016

Burning Up The Days

Last Saturday I gazed into the future. This was after I slopped around in the slush and mud splitting and cutting wood during an unusual forty-plus degree February day. I have two stacks of firewood in the barn: The smaller one is what is left of this year’s supply. The larger one, needing another year of drying, is for next year and beyond – perhaps three or four year’s worth.

I keep enough firewood in the garage by the house to last a couple weeks, and occasionally I will change my mind about a piece or two before I put it into the woodstove. As is often the case, my perspective changes when I get closer to the target; the firewood looks smaller in the barn.

The pieces that somehow grew between the barn and the house get a return trip where they are split and/or cut into smaller chunks. My dad used to say when you heat with wood it warms you twice. These must be special, as they have done their job about half-a-dozen times.

After I cut the wood down to size, I restacked it in the barn. This year’s supply of wood was disappearing fast, and for a while it looked like the cold would outlast the fire, but a few days of unseasonably warm weather has turned the tide in my favor.

As I contemplated my stockpile of wood for the next few years, the warm weather hinted of the coming spring. Then my mind raced past the summer, through the fall, into next winter and the three winters after that until I realized I was looking at wood that would be warming me (once or twice) when I was sixty.

It wasn’t that long ago, maybe twenty years or so, when sixty seemed old. But as is often the case, my perspective changes when I get closer to the target; the years seemed a long way off when I was younger. Obviously, I no longer feel that way.

I now know that the seasons of life pass by far too quickly. One of my favorite passages from the Bible is, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Psalm 90:12 NIV. That verse reminds me to not waste time on futile activities, to treasure time with family and friends, and to live as if I will never have this day again. Sadly, I can’t even count on tomorrow.

On Friday mornings, after I meet with a group of guys at a coffee shop, I stop by my daughter’s house; if I time it right I can give my son-in-law a ride to work. It’s just a few blocks and it’s just a few minutes, but it means a lot to me to spend some focused time with him.

Then I swing back to the house where Micah, my two-year old grandson, greets me at the door. His beaming smile melts my heart, but when he says, “Hi Pa,” I forget everything else. I never would have chosen the name of “Pa,” but I wouldn’t change it for anything now.

Jonah, his younger brother, doesn’t talk yet, but his smile and wide-eyed look makes me laugh and cry in the same moment. In turn, I scoop both of them up and count my blessings. Their mother makes Micah and I bagels and eggs which we eat together with Micah sitting (and occasionally spilling) on my lap. It’s the perfect way to start any day and one of the most important things I do in my life.

The future isn’t here yet, and there is still plenty of firewood left in the barn, but I am learning to number my days.



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