Another Life
Another Day Along the Way
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Another day,
We count time. As I look today at a friend's years on earth, I ask, "Is that many years or a few?"
Usually the "many" and the "few" rotate. They take turns during this life trip. A class in school appears to hit pause for the clock on the wall. A conversation with a lover lasts sixty-three minutes but feels like five. A game's final two minutes travel slowly for the team leading; the race runs rapidly for the team behind.
Waiting in line, eating a delicious meal, jammed in traffic, saying goodbye to a friend. Slowly. Quickly. Life.
For Mac, the years hurried and paused. His final years felt, to him, like a marathon. Too slow. No end in sight.
I've known only a small portion of Mac's life. I've only known him since he became homeless. His years with families and houses and normal jobs were long before I met him.
But, as I fed him and cleaned him last week just two days before he died, I wanted to make his last few days count. We prayed, we read, we talked. My friends helped baptize him in the hospice room where sinks and napkins can have spiritual meanings after all.
The last time Mac felt like talking about his life and his choices, he reminded me of my life. He told me not to make his mistakes. I struggled to understand his words as he spoke through a mouth covered with cancer and blood. But I heard much. How much of it will I apply?
A homeless man like Mac can remind us of how to live. Now that his spirit has left this planet, I pray I apply his sermon.
I pray my time will count.
Along the way,
Chris Maxwell
Powerful Statement: (Psalm 146:3, NIV)
Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortal men, who cannot save.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Another day,
We count time. As I look today at a friend's years on earth, I ask, "Is that many years or a few?"
Usually the "many" and the "few" rotate. They take turns during this life trip. A class in school appears to hit pause for the clock on the wall. A conversation with a lover lasts sixty-three minutes but feels like five. A game's final two minutes travel slowly for the team leading; the race runs rapidly for the team behind.
Waiting in line, eating a delicious meal, jammed in traffic, saying goodbye to a friend. Slowly. Quickly. Life.
For Mac, the years hurried and paused. His final years felt, to him, like a marathon. Too slow. No end in sight.
I've known only a small portion of Mac's life. I've only known him since he became homeless. His years with families and houses and normal jobs were long before I met him.
But, as I fed him and cleaned him last week just two days before he died, I wanted to make his last few days count. We prayed, we read, we talked. My friends helped baptize him in the hospice room where sinks and napkins can have spiritual meanings after all.
The last time Mac felt like talking about his life and his choices, he reminded me of my life. He told me not to make his mistakes. I struggled to understand his words as he spoke through a mouth covered with cancer and blood. But I heard much. How much of it will I apply?
A homeless man like Mac can remind us of how to live. Now that his spirit has left this planet, I pray I apply his sermon.
I pray my time will count.
Along the way,
Chris Maxwell
Powerful Statement: (Psalm 146:3, NIV)
Do not put your trust in princes,
in mortal men, who cannot save.
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