So this is like the 4th week in a row that looks exactly the same down here. It’s gloomy, misty, gray, and damp. I feel like I’m in “Ground Hog Day”. It’s been an unusual Spring, even for the “land of the concrete sky”. I am confident that, any day now, we’ll break out of this and it’ll be Summer once more in the most amazing place to ever spend a Summer. It’ll be none too soon as I have a long list of outdoor projects that need attention before THE EVENT happens in August. I still imagine, even on days like this, that I’ll have time to finish. Who am I kidding? I’ll never finish because I’ll never be finished. There is always “one more thing” …. “If You Give A Mouse A Cookie”. Some of you know what I mean by this… the rest of you can rely on Google to figure it out.
Anyway… I used to think that, with enough time, I could accomplish anything. I handle my graduate studies that way. I handle my house projects that way. Sometimes, I’ll confess, I handle my teaching prep time in my “community o’ faith” that way. I learned both in college and as a parent, that even though there are only 24 hours in a day, I could use as many of them as I needed to accomplish a task and sleep could slide a bit. Now as a grandpa, and on the backside of my fourth decade of existence, I am finding that time no longer works that way. Our princess has driven home the point that sleep, for me, is not optional any longer. And my body has driven home the point that my waking hours are no longer what they used to be. Two injuries in two weeks have wiped hours of productivity from my map which has not only affected my ability to do the physical, around the house, tasks, but has also placed my graduate studies timeline in jeopardy.
It’s interesting how the physical has impacted the mental. My graduate studies require no more physical effort than getting myself and my laptop to a chair. It’s the realization that I have limits that moves even into my mental tasks. It takes away confidence and creates so many distractions and questions. The realization that I am mortal has come like an unwanted visitor. This is sort of amusing to me at the same time as one who holds on to the hope of immortality and eternity and all of the promises that my faith brings. It’s not that I doubt any of this. In fact in a strange way, I think my finally owning my mortality makes the promise of immortality even more appealing. It’s like the gold at the end of the rainbow or the finish line tape at the end of a marathon. It keeps me moving through life and trying to fit in as much as I can. After all, I am promised that when Jesus comes for me I’ll receive a new body and an unlimited amount of time. Some days that just sounds really appealing.