I have 30 minutes for lunch. As I type these words, the ticking clock whittles the seconds away. Numbers are the god of my business. They demand tight routes, quick deliveries, heavyweight freight in lightweight time. Every day my job performance is judged by my numbers. Too low for too long, and I'll be looking for employment elsewhere.
I now have 18 minutes left for lunch.
Would that at work alone my life were ruled by numbers. But when I get home, there are bills on the table with demanding numbers on them. My wife and I are in the middle of buying a home. Talk about numbers: square footage, interest rates, closing costs, how many inches away from the house bushes must be trimmed. At work, at home, these numerical ghosts haunt my existence.
I now have 15 minutes left for lunch.
Tomorrow will be a number day for me as well; I will turn 44 years old. That's a bit over 16,000 days that I've lived. Each one brings me closer to another number, the number that will determine the year on the right side of the dash engraved on my tombstone. Perhaps that year will be 2014. I pray it will be a bigger number, but my number is in the hand of the Almighty.
I now have 7 minutes left for lunch.
Each second, each day, each month and year, each number in this life that ticks away so quickly is a gift from the eternal One. He who is above time, born in time, to redeem us in time, that we might live with him in eternity. My life is in the hand of the one who gave up His life for me. And that is enough. Let numbers come and go. I rest in that one of whom Israel says, The Lord our God, the Lord is One.
I have 1 minute left for lunch. But no big deal. I have an eternity with Christ to look forward to.