Family rituals are seldom hammered-out in a strategic whiteboard session involving multiple generations. Most often, they are developed over time: a one-off becomes a rinse-and-repeat routine.
When our kids were growing up, shopping lists produced jumbo-size selections. Between the girls and their friends, we were more likely to run out than to run over.
Nowadays, the ritual involves our now-adult daughters acting as self-appointed Overdue Inspectors: they go straight for the refrigerator and begin sorting through the groceries in search of the timed-out terrors.
It seems like everything these days comes with expiration dates. Hiding under the milestones of “sell by” and “use by” are the reminder that bringing things home from Trader Joe’s or Costco means that we’ve begun a race against time: in the current era, we’re more likely to throw away the bargain ounces in the economy size than ever before. Our effort to save money by going big results in throwing the extra into the now-mandated compost bin that reduces bargain brands to topsoil.
Today marks Day #171 since I was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia; my countdown began on January 7th. I’m one-week shy of six months since my life was hijacked by a would-be fatal disease; I’m now at Day #68 since my bone marrow transplant that gives me hope for more life to come.
For months now, thoughtful friends have been asking me – through their phone calls, texts, emails and comments through CaringBridge.org – the reasonable question: “What is God teaching you through this experience?” By the way: that should be the challenge of a believer’s life always, but most importantly when a believer’s life becomes unbelievable, based on what we think it should be…
I was the guy who ran religiously for 45 years; until last October, I averaged 35+ miles a week. I took non-prescription supplements promising me 100+ years of life. French fries were a monthly indulgence; preventative check-ups with my primary care doc were routine. My dad lived a very unhealthy life… and died at 90. I made all of my plans based on outliving him by a decade.
What have I learned? From being in isolation for most of a half-year, here’s what God has taught me – through the experience, and through His Word: “Now listen, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to this or that city, spend a year there, carry on business and make money.’ Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead, you ought to say, ‘If it is the Lord’s will, we will live and do this or that.’ As it is, you boast in your arrogant schemes. All such boasting is evil. If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.” (James 4:13-17).
I picked up a great quote from an obscure source a few weeks ago: Where planning ends, the adventure begins. My plan ended on January 6th; God’s revision was announced to us on January 7th. He hasn’t sent me a stone tablet with my future articulated. What am I to do, next?
Online searches can only tell me so much regarding life expectancy rates post-bone marrow transplant. The American Cancer Society estimates loss of lifespan at 8.7 years for those who survive the transplant procedure. The Google searches do not include any reveals from Heaven’s database…
One sure thing I know: if the groceries in our fridge have expiration dates, so do I. What is my life? “It’s a mist that appears for a little while.” Whatever I was planning to do in the future needs to be re-examined against the backdrop of James’ caution: “If anyone knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.”
I’m sorting out “the good that I ought to do” in my life and calling and awaiting the clearance from my docs to get back to action after treatments end. My agenda? Make urgency a key factor in the years God may choose to give me coming out of 2022.
I’m very aware of my “use by” date. Are you?
