Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.
(Psalm 90:12)
I hate to feel rushed. Most people do, I’m sure. My
mornings are supposed to be filled with blog post writing and household duties.
At some point recently, something went wrong with our furnace, just in time for
cold, windy weather to roll in. I think it’s the thirty-something year old
thermostat. I’m waiting for a call form the heating guy who is overwhelmed with
calls due to the weather.
Last Thursday’s trip to the emergency room resulted in a name of a primary care physician to call for Dad. We saw her yesterday morning and she gave me referrals to Palliative Care, Home Health Care, a podiatrist and an endocrinologist. More appointments. More paperwork. More money. More that I have to take care of. Having a family member in need of medical assistance who is not going to recover adds to the pressure.
I’m not sharing this to get sympathy. It’s teaching me something that I need to learn: to number my days. Usually, I think of number my days in terms of “your days are numbered” – meaning that it won’t be long until someone kills you. What I’m thinking today is that number our days has to do with making each one count. When I have to be here at nine, and there at one-thirty, and then be available between six and seven because a repair guy is coming, I start valuing my time a little more. When I live out of my planner, I get more done and start making better decisions about what to do with the time I have.
It’s dangerous, like asking for patience, but if I have to go through this time in which my life is disrupted and I’m being pulled in ten directions at once, I’m glad that at least I get to gain wisdom from it.
Last Thursday’s trip to the emergency room resulted in a name of a primary care physician to call for Dad. We saw her yesterday morning and she gave me referrals to Palliative Care, Home Health Care, a podiatrist and an endocrinologist. More appointments. More paperwork. More money. More that I have to take care of. Having a family member in need of medical assistance who is not going to recover adds to the pressure.
I’m not sharing this to get sympathy. It’s teaching me something that I need to learn: to number my days. Usually, I think of number my days in terms of “your days are numbered” – meaning that it won’t be long until someone kills you. What I’m thinking today is that number our days has to do with making each one count. When I have to be here at nine, and there at one-thirty, and then be available between six and seven because a repair guy is coming, I start valuing my time a little more. When I live out of my planner, I get more done and start making better decisions about what to do with the time I have.
It’s dangerous, like asking for patience, but if I have to go through this time in which my life is disrupted and I’m being pulled in ten directions at once, I’m glad that at least I get to gain wisdom from it.
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