The Number of Our Days

Last Saturday was the funeral of Adrian Regehr, son of our friends Doug & Vi who live near Yorkton, on the east side of Sask.  Adrian–age 26–was electrocuted in an accident at work; he leaves a young widow.

This morning we listened to the funeral of my husband’s friend Joe N Peachey of Belleville, Penn.  Joe was a dairy farmer and orchard man all his life; he suffered from dementia these last few years and ended his sojourn here at the age of 78.  He leaves a widow and a very large family.

Today’s Minister read the following scriptures at the start of his message:
“LORD, make me to know mine end, and the measure of my days, what it is; that I may know how frail I am.” Psalm 39:4
“So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”  Psalm 90:12

Death teaches us.  We learn that we can’t wait until such-and-such happens to count our blessings.  We can’t trust that when this or that goal is reached, we’ll be happy.  Those times may never come.  Haven’t we seen it in others’ lives — or sudden deaths?

A person need not be irresponsibly rushing off to do good deeds for everyone; on the other hand we shouldn’t wait until we “feel more like it” to do the things we know we should do for others and to express those kind thoughts.  The devil has a way of keeping us wrapped up in our own feelings.  Plus we forget so soon — or we get too busy with our own lives.

When my grandma was sick in the hospital I intended to go and visit with her.  But you know how it goes.  Excuses: I was a busy young mother; I was never close to her; she was ill a long time so I thought I’d have time yet; I’d never dealt wit someone dying before.  It was too easy to put off going.

One morning I decided I MUST go see her now, so Bob and I went to the hospital and inquired at the front desk.  “Mrs. Jackman passed away early this morning,” I was told.  It was too late.  Forever.

I lost the blessing of being able to sit and visit with her – maybe get to know what made her tick.  Perhaps the generation gap between us could have been bridged somewhat? This incident taught me a lesson: I can’t count on someone to always be there.

When my niece Barb succumbed to cancer at age 16, her mother chose this verse for the memorial card:

Death comes and lets us know
we love more deeply than we show,
but love in death just lets us see
what love in life should always be.


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