Or so it seemed this morning.
The Psalter reading from Common Prayer included Psalm 39.
Speaking of the measure of my days:
they are but a span,
- 5 1/2 - 9 inches compared to Eternity!
At my age I'm well aware at the shortness of ones life regardless of the number of years piled up. But the psalmist goes on to speak of it all as vapor, i.e. rising morning mists. And of the treasures we cling to and pile up as vanity, vain shadows "heaped up riches and we cannot tell who will gather them."
Is that all, isn't that rebuke enough? No. I am also frail, transitory.
Bernard of Clairvaux then pointed out that "the soul's vision is caked over by our focus" of our earth toys, our treasures, seeing as we will the gifts and not the Giver.
These thoughts combined paint a grim and unattractive picture of my failed vision and my foolish clingings.
Back to the Psalm we go. From my caked over vision, my pile of toys and treasures that unknown others will enjoy, the disappearing vapor that is life, a proper focus is offered.
"And now Lord, what is my hope?
Truly my hope is even in Thee."
After the tears, the prayer and heart's cry, the writer gives this reminder:
"for I am Your passing guest,
a temporary resident,
as all my fathers were."
Nevertheless, over all is hope, hope that clears , uncluttering, uncaking the eyes of the soul.
Lord this day,
give me clear eyes,
Your eyes to see the measure of my life and its focus,
"looking away from all that distracts to Jesus,
the Author and Finisher of [my] faith."