When Big Is Small, and Small Is Big: Learning to Number Your Days

Reading Time: 5 minutes

Life is sometimes a stern teacher. On December 28, 2015, at about 11:30 a.m., I suffered a heart attack. The left main artery of my heart had a 90% (“widow maker”) blockage. When it struck, by God’s unfathomable grace and The Redheaded-Wildflower’s life-saving insistence, I happened to be in a medical clinic on an EKG machine, surrounded by doctors and nurses. Read that story here.
That’s the day when I began to learn big is small and small is big and the true meaning of the phrase learn to number your days.

That idiom comes from Psalm 90:12: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Time is limited; don’t squander a minute!

Before the heart attack, I was not oblivious to this truth. My father died too young. My mother’s father, too. Doesn’t it feel as if almost everyone dies too young? And being a pastor, I’ve presided over far too many young people’s funerals. Life is fragile and fleeting. Seize the day! Make the most of life while you can. I dreamed big, started a family, enrolled in seminary, and started sipping from the chalice of success. This belief system, however, though not wrong, always had a slightly sour flavor. 

After the heart attack, Psalm 90:12 took on a sweeter life-changing meaning: your days are limited, yes. But don’t try to gulp life as if it’s a hot-dog eating contest. Rather, slow down and chew every bite. Notice the tang and spice of simple, daily things. Inhabit the day rather than violently seizing it.

This last December 28, my oldest daughter wrote me, “Thankful for nine additional years with you. Three extra grandkids who now know you and have been blessed by your presence in their lives.” Her text made me reflect on the many things I’ve been present for in the last nine years. Big and small. May this list spur you on to name what we may call the minuscule ingredients that have seasoned the quality of your life. 

Since that heart attack, I have 

• Numbered some 3,300 days. And . . .  

• God added four more image-bearers to our family—three gorgeous, hilarious grandchildren, and one shining light daughter-in-law;

And I 

• Trod thousands of hours with The Redheaded-Wildflower, Sir Winston (his butt wagging in pleasure), friends (I didn’t watch their butts), and God; 
• Photographed the sunrise and sunset on the beach with my artistic oldest granddaughter; 
• Danced to Bluey music with my youngest granddaughter; 
• Told my family and friends I love you a multitude of times (though not enough); 
• Enjoyed countless cups of coffee with my youngest daughter, Emmy, friends, and alone; 
• Built a treehouse with my son-in-law and grandsons; 
• Learned about Jesus from my oldest daughter; 
• Held whispered conversations with Jay while sitting in shadowed, silent woods at 10,000 feet; 
• Watched the Broncos win Super Bowl 50 with my son Brendan.

During those nine years

• My two sisters passed from lives of struggle to everlasting peace (loss can be an unexpected gain); 
• I grieve them and my brother and mother daily; 

• I reconnected with my best friend from high school only to grieve his passing a month later.
• I explored the midwest between Denver and NYC moving my youngest daughter, Emmy, to Manhattan, and cried and celebrated; 
• I gave advice; 
• Lost friends (maybe related to my advice-giving); 
• Contracted then recovered (mostly) from long COVID;
• Realized how oppressive and misunderstood chronic illnesses are; 
• Retired from pastoral ministry in the church;
• Saw people at my retirement party from every church The Redheaded-Wildflower served during our 40-plus years of ministry.
• Topped 12,000-foot peaks with The Redheaded-Wildflower, hiking one hundred glorious, strenuous miles of the Colorado Trail; 

I have also

• Listened to elk bugle and tried to lure them near; 
• Reintroduced listening to vinyl to our grateful ears;
• Marveled at geese winging overhead, honking as if saying pay attention.
• Told stories (want to hear one?); 
• Sat in sometimes uncomfortable and sometimes comforting silence; 
• Studied fear and finally become friends with her;
• Begun a book Dancing in the Dragon’s Jawsbased on what I’ve learned;
• Read and reread all of Leif Enger’s novels and hundreds of other fantastic and not-so-good books; 
• Written hundreds of thousands of words (some of them sharp and beautiful); 
• Driven coast-to-coast with The Redheaded-Wildflower; 
• Taken 10,000 photographs (a few turned out okay) 
• Penned a plethora of poems (not enough and with too many unfinished), 
• Remodeled our master bedroom and bath;

I’ve grown and changed by

• Reading the Psalms and Gospels numerous times; 

• Hearing God speak hard, true, beautiful, confusing, and comforting words; 
• Taking numerous naps (especially when I was sick); 
• Repairing broken things (including relationships); 
• Asking myself, others, and God for forgiveness; 
• Basking in God’s undeserved grace; 
• Crying with friends and laughing too; 
• Performing several joyous weddings and too many heartbreaking funerals; 
• Praying a million prayers;
• Using hyperbole; 
• Talking with Jesus daily.

Through all this and more, I’ve noticed

• I did not change the world;
• Save the whales; 
• Answer life’s questions;
• Solve climate change;
• Write the great American novel (though I’m still working on it);
• Go viral;
• Invent the perpetual motion machine. 

Life is sometimes a stern teacher. But true and openhanded, especially seen through God’s perspective. By God’s continuing grace, I am still learning that numbering my days and gaining wisdom is more about measuring the moment, no matter how small, rather than noticing my life does not measure up.