puffs of air.

Here I go, struggling again for the world to see! Now in my middle forties, I wonder where life has gone so quickly. I feel the pull of trying to "stay young, hip and relevant." I am now too old for many things in life...I don't even think the Army would take me! How did this happen??? Someone pass me an 8-track or a LP, I want to be young again!

I see it all the time in my work (a Membership/Wellness Director at a YMCA), people working out to stay fit, healthy and straining to hold onto to the vitality of youth. Don't get me wrong, I am straining to...it's why I run. But I see it's ultimately a losing battle. Letting go of this life is a true mark of getting what it's all about. I don't mean to cease caring either.

Let's face it, in our bathtub of life, the drain plug has been pulled! The water is decreasing...for all of us. The sooner we embrace that this life is not all there is...the better this life will become. "John, did you hear that?" [speaking to self]

^1-3 I'm determined to watch steps and tongue so they won't land me in trouble.
I decided to hold my tongue
as long as Wicked is in the room.
"Mum's the word," I said, and kept quiet.
But the longer I kept silence
The worse it got—
my insides got hotter and hotter.
My thoughts boiled over;
I spilled my guts.

^4-6 "Tell me, what's going on, God?
How long do I have to live?
Give me the bad news!
You've kept me on pretty short rations;
my life is string too short to be saved.
Oh! we're all puffs of air.
Oh! we're all shadows in a campfire.
Oh! we're just spit in the wind.
We make our pile, and then we leave it.

^7-11 "What am I doing in the meantime, Lord?
Hoping, that's what I'm doing—hoping
You'll save me from a rebel life,
save me from the contempt of dunces.
I'll say no more, I'll shut my mouth,
since you, Lord, are behind all this.
But I can't take it much longer.
When you put us through the fire
to purge us from our sin,
our dearest idols go up in smoke.
Are we also nothing but smoke?

^12-13 "Ah, God, listen to my prayer, my
cry—open your ears.
Don't be callous;
just look at these tears of mine.
I'm a stranger here. I don't know my way—
a migrant like my whole family.
Give me a break, cut me some slack
before it's too late and I'm out of here." (Psalm 39, The Message)

This Psalm says it best. The Bible always has a way of doing that!

a puffy stranger,
john