Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the whole world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God. A thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night. (Psalm 90:2 & 4)
Simile: a figure of speech involving the comparison of one thing with another thing of a different kind, used to make a description more emphatic or vivid (e.g., as brave as a lion, crazy like a fox).
Let’s begin with what today’s passage doesn’t say. It does not say that a thousand years is a day, or that a thousand years equals a day. It says a thousand years is like a day, and a day like a thousand years. It’s a simile. God is outside of time. The simplest way to put this passage in today’s language is that a long time isn’t long to God. Neither is a short time short.
Usually, I think of this idea in terms of God’s taking His time when I’m looking at my watch, tapping my toe, and thinking, “Come on, God, we’re going to be late!” And God dawdles. (I know, His timing is always perfect, but I tend to be impatient.) Today, however, I’m thinking in the reverse. How much time have I spent in my life, dawdling over something that doesn’t matter, whining about something He’s already taken care of, throwing myself down in the grocery store aisle of the universe and screaming because I want something and He hasn’t not only given it to me but super-sized it and added all the peripherals out of the goodness of His heart?
This morning’s meditation was on being a friend to God. I know He’s a friend to me. There are times when I think I’m not His friend because His friend would be as good to Him as He is to His friend. I’m just me. It brings to mind the dog I had before Grace. Her name was Honey and Vinegar, and it fit. She was afraid of everyone in the world except Dad and me. If either of us startled her, she was likely to attack. Dad struggled with it, but I learned that you just never touched her without speaking to her first.
There were times when I would pray that God would not let me die for as long as she was alive because no one else would love her and care for her. There were times when I could see the similarities between us, neither of us quite what others considered acceptable. But she would sit next to me and let me rub her ears, just as I imagined that God found that I was willing to tolerate a little affection from Him. And if I was able to love her, as damaged as she was, then I had to face the fact that maybe God was able to love me, and you, because you’re just as human as I am.
And though it seems as though we’ll never get it right, no matter what it is, God’s not looking at the calendar or His watch and saying, “Come on, Karen, it’s been three years and you’re still _________. We’re going to be late.”
Usually, I think of this idea in terms of God’s taking His time when I’m looking at my watch, tapping my toe, and thinking, “Come on, God, we’re going to be late!” And God dawdles. (I know, His timing is always perfect, but I tend to be impatient.) Today, however, I’m thinking in the reverse. How much time have I spent in my life, dawdling over something that doesn’t matter, whining about something He’s already taken care of, throwing myself down in the grocery store aisle of the universe and screaming because I want something and He hasn’t not only given it to me but super-sized it and added all the peripherals out of the goodness of His heart?
This morning’s meditation was on being a friend to God. I know He’s a friend to me. There are times when I think I’m not His friend because His friend would be as good to Him as He is to His friend. I’m just me. It brings to mind the dog I had before Grace. Her name was Honey and Vinegar, and it fit. She was afraid of everyone in the world except Dad and me. If either of us startled her, she was likely to attack. Dad struggled with it, but I learned that you just never touched her without speaking to her first.
There were times when I would pray that God would not let me die for as long as she was alive because no one else would love her and care for her. There were times when I could see the similarities between us, neither of us quite what others considered acceptable. But she would sit next to me and let me rub her ears, just as I imagined that God found that I was willing to tolerate a little affection from Him. And if I was able to love her, as damaged as she was, then I had to face the fact that maybe God was able to love me, and you, because you’re just as human as I am.
And though it seems as though we’ll never get it right, no matter what it is, God’s not looking at the calendar or His watch and saying, “Come on, Karen, it’s been three years and you’re still _________. We’re going to be late.”
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