On Turning 67: Numbering Our Days

Psalm 90:10 makes the sobering claim that “The length of our days is seventy years.”

That’s mildly alarming if, like me, you’ve just turned 67. What – only 3 years to go? True, the Psalmist goes on to note that we might reach 80, but warns that “their span is but trouble and sorrow”, before advising us “to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

OK – so what does this have to say to those who, like me, are in striking distance of some of those numbers, and does it also have something for those who haven’t yet reached 20?

I don’t remember much about my early childhood, but one memory stands out. I was probably 4 or 5, and my mother told me that Aunt Mary had died. She was an aunt in the loose way that term is sometimes used – not a blood relation, but a good friend of the family, and we called her an aunt because Mary would have sounded too familiar and Mrs Jones too stuffy – so Aunt Mary she was. Was! That’s what struck me. She was no more. She used to make a rather nice baked custard I was very partial to – I imagined that now also being past tense. As the enormity of everything about her shifting to past tense struck me, I started to wail… and wail… and wail. My mother tells me I carried on for hours – really uncharacteristic for my home where strong expressions of emotion were not encouraged. Realistically, though I was fond of Aunt Mary, she wasn’t my closest relative or friend – but she was the first person I knew who died. And I found the thought of that appallingly cruel – that people who made wonderful baked custard could suddenly be no more.

Life has been kind to me… the number of people I knew who were added to the “was” list grew very slowly. Most were elderly. When they weren’t, it was so much more harrowing. I will only upset myself if I speak about some of them now, but yes – death is very, very confronting when it turns out the Psalmist was hopelessly optimistic in suggesting they could expect a 70th birthday cake.

Somewhat confrontingly, I’ve noticed that in the second half of my 60’s the “was” list has started to grow at a horrible pace. I’ve also noticed that the heart is a spacious place. After the pain of farewell, some people remain forever alive in your heart. In a few special cases, they feel more real than when they were present, because its the entirety of their impact that strikes you as they burst back into memory again. It is not sloppy sentiment to say “forever in my heart” when it is simply a statement of truth. I have people who are “forever in my heart” – and from there they continue to guide, encourage and inspire me.

Now here’s the thing. I’m writing as though because I’ve turned 67, I’m approaching endgame. And of course it is perfectly possible I am. However, I’ve answered the intrusive questions of some life expectancy calculators and the gloomiest predicts I will be around until 91, while the more optimistic suggest there’s a 50% chance I will make 97. True – none were willing to push it out to 100 – so the King might be spared a card, stamp and envelope. Interestingly enough the calculators warn that if I stop flossing, I will have to subtract 6 months, and if I add a kilogram of two, I will have to shave a corresponding number of years off. However, barring dramatic life style changes, if you are in life insurance, you’d probably be willing to offer me a good rate.

Enough meandering around. What am I trying to say? At 67 you have absolutely no idea how long you will be around for. So what does it mean “to number our days aright”?

For me, it’s about continuing my long established practice of saying at the start of each day: “This is the day the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it” (Ps 118:24). And I will – for each day, regardless of what it brings, is a gift from God. And we should use God’s gifts well – regardless of if we are 17, 67 or 97.

And I will continue to say “yes” to life, and all that it brings, because the moment you start saying “no”, you start to die – even if you live another 30 years.

And I will continue to remind myself of the beautiful affirmation I have build my life upon: “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.” That being the case, it is easy to say with Paul: “For me to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Phil 1:21).

Article supplied with thanks to Brian Harris.

About the Author: Brian is a speaker, teacher, leader, writer, author and respected theologian who is founding director of the AVENIR Leadership Institute, fostering leaders who will make a positive impact on the world.

Feature image: Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash