What Really Matters

 What Really Matters

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”  Psalm 90:12

       Twenty plus years ago my music of choice was rock and roll.  I know for many of you that might sound a little out of place for me.  But I loved bands like Metallica, NIN, Tool, etc.  The louder the music was, the better. One of my favorite bands in my high school years was Linkin Park. Their most iconic song was "In the End."  The song didn't ring with optimism, a matter of fact, looking back, it was a terribly depressing song.  It focuses on futility, an overarching dense of disappointment, and failed relationships.  It wasn't a song that you listened to when you felt good, it was a song that you listened to when you felt depressed.  The chorus went "I tried so hard and got so far, but in the end it doesn't even matter.  I had to fall to lose it all, but in the end, it doesn't even matter."  That melancholy song begs me to ask the question, what does matter?  I mean, what REALLY MATTERS.

      When you lose the person you thought you’d grow old with, the world suddenly feels different, almost like waking up in a foreign country where there are no familiar road signs.  I've been visiting Uganda the last few days and let me tell you, traffic and driving is quite different.  Road signs are more like suggestions, motorcycles outnumber cars, and people seem to be color blind to red lights.  When grief hits the things that once seemed so urgent—the schedules, the deadlines, the to-do lists—fade into the background. Grief has a way of sharpening your vision, not just to what is gone, but to what truly remains.

      I used to think what mattered most was the future I was building: the house, the plans, the years ahead.  While I love my job and I want to be faithful in my calling, I have very little desire to achieve to higher status or have more money.  I don't want a new title, new degree, or for that matter to be well known.  I remember at one time in my life working part time at a church, working a full time job as a missionary, working part time at my kids schools, being a part time janitor, sitting on a school board, camp board, executive committee, I was a youth chairman planning activites for 15 churches, all while being a father and a husband.  Yes, I did all of those things at one time.  I thought that a busy, full calendar was a sign of faithfulness.  I pursued more and more.  Now I see it was the simple things all along—the laughter around the dinner table, the prayers whispered together at night, the quiet moments of holding hands. I would give anything for just one more ordinary day, because the ordinary was never ordinary at all.  I look back in the rearview mirror of life and realize that none of those long nights, business meetings were worth it.  I'm glad I had the chance to do it, but I have repented from the busy life.

      Tif's favorite Andy Griffth episode was the man in a hurry.  It was about a wealthy business man from Charlotte who couldn't slow down.  Tif always said that was me.  A man that couldn't relax, sit down, stop and smell the roses.  And you know what, she was right....I was wrong.  As a widower, I’m learning that what really matters isn’t measured in possessions, status, or even long-term plans. It’s measured in love. Love given freely, love received humbly, love expressed in the little things we so easily overlook.  I have embraced this and have stepped back from the overwhelming chaos of that life.  Instead I'm going to go about life slower, steadier, seeking to love the most simple moments.  I have promised my three kids, along with Les and her two precious ones that I have retired from rush, rush, rush.  Because life is short and I need to number my days, not knowing when it will be my last.  When I die no one will remember me as a company man, or the hours that I worked, but instead the people that knew me most, those that will really mourn me will remember how I loved them and Jesus.  They won't remember the hours that I worked or the meetings that I conducted....but instead the love that I lavished on them.

      What really matters is the eternal—God’s presence, His promises, and the way His Spirit comforts me when I feel undone. What really matters is investing in people, not projects; in moments, not milestones. Because when everything else is stripped away, what remains is love—both the love we gave and the love we carry forward in Christ.  It's sad that it took losing Tif to realize that.  I wish I could go back and redo multiple seasons of my life, but since I can't hit the rewind button I can change my current situation and get it right the second time.  Heed my advice, don't live a life with regrets, chasing retirement and money, being a desk jockey.  But instead love deeply, live for Jesus, and cherish each precious second.

So today, I remind myself:

• What matters is choosing kindness when I could choose bitterness.
• What matters is being present, not perfect.
• What matters is trusting that God is writing a story beyond my sight, one that leads to eternal reunion and unbroken joy.

      Grief has taught me this: life is shorter than I could have ever imagined, and more sacred, than I ever realized. And in the end, what really matters is living each day with a heart that loves God and others deeply.

      My prayer today is simply Lord, teach me to number my days. Strip away the distractions and the noise, and help me see what truly matters. Give me the courage to love well, to live present, and to hold fast to You—the One who remains when all else falls away. Amen.  May you repeat that same beautiful prayer.