By Reason of Strength they be Fourscore

[1]

 

 Psalm 90:10 Contemporary English Version

¹⁰ We can expect seventy years,
or maybe eighty,
    if we are healthy,
but even our best years
    bring trouble and sorrow.
Suddenly our time is up,
    and we disappear

 

James gives a Christian commentary on that verse: “My friends, consider yourselves fortunate when all kinds of trials come your way, or you know that when your faith succeeds in facing such trials, the result is the ability to endure.”[2]

Today is my 81^st birthday. I have now surpassed the four-score point.  I must confess that as I look back over 81 years, I have had my trouble and sorrow.  On the other hand, I have enjoyed life even in the darkest times.  In the past year my prostate cancer has returned but not with a vengeance yet.  I suffered a stroke, and this prompted my oncologist to say, “Now you are no longer fighting cancer, you are fighting to stay alive. So, stop taking…” and he listed most of my cancer medications.

We had a car accident where a semi pushed us sideways down a freeway ramp at ever increasing speeds. When I took the car in to the body shop a few days later, I was told that my insurance would probably total my car because of the damages—even though I was able to drive it home from the accident. My wife and daughter were in the car, yet none of the three of us suffered any injuries. God has been very good!

Sylvia stated, “Our guardian angels were really looking after us!” To which some wag quipped, “If they were looking after you, why didn’t they prevent you from having an accident?”

We took a lovely trip back east this past summer. We escaped some of the relentless 100º (40ºC) weather and attended Sylvia’s family reunion in North Carolina. At each family reunion we noticed that some of our beloved family members have cashed in on “suddenly our time is up and we disappear.”

However, we are laying concrete plans for a trip to Africa this year and a trip to see a total solar eclipse next year. In the meantime, we may suddenly disappear.

At this point I can only say,

 Thank You, Lord, for a good life and many happy years!

[3]

---

[1] https://biblepic.com/psalms/90-10.htm

[2] James 1: 2-3 GNT

[3] https://www.irish-folk-songs.com/three-score-and-ten-lyrics-chords-and-sheet-music.html

Fourscore Years

 

[1]

Psalm 90:10, 12 American Standard Version

¹⁰ The days of our years are threescore years and ten,
Or even by reason of strength fourscore years;
Yet is their pride but labor and sorrow;
For it is soon gone, and we fly away.
¹² So teach us to number our days,
That we may get us a heart of wisdom.

 

The other day we held a reunion of friends who grew up or served in Southern Africa. About twenty of us showed up. This had dwindled over the pandemic, when we would often have forty in attendance. I estimate that the average age was about fourscore years; in one sense or another we must all have “strength.” From the conversation it appears that all of them had been vaccinated and “boosted.” In spite of all the sophistry and circumlocution that goes around, it is only wise to accept with rejoicing what the Lord has graciously given this generation.

Some of us were missionaries in Africa: some of us were born there. All of us are well educated, enjoy the outdoors, appreciate the arts, and revel in the love of God. All are doing something, even at this advanced age, to help our fellow humans. All of us have attained to a fair amount of wisdom.

We should be labeled sophomores in its classical sense. In case your classical knowledge is a bit rusty, sophomore is the concatenation of the two Greek words, “Sophos”—clever or wise—and “moros”—foolish, i.e., wise fools.

A rather outspoken friend of mine, not at our reunion, cajoles us rather frequently that the only way to achieve immortality is to author and publish books. He foresees his grandchildren reading the novels he is writing and sees them rediscovering him. He writes well into the wee hours of the morning every day. Is that a form of numbering our days?

The other morning a fire-engine and an ambulance, lights flashing, parked in front of the house across the street. I waved at Peggy as she lay on a stretcher inside the ambulance, and she smiled wanly and waved weakly back. As we see our friends and contemporaries check out of this state of “labor and sorrow,” it reminds us that our names are perilously close to the top of the list. Peggy is back home now, and her daughter tells me her pervasive pain has been brought under control. For the time being, she has beaten the grim reaper.

Thank You, Lord, for reminding us of the tenuous nature of our present existence and the eternity you have prepared for us.

 

 

---

[1] Eighty-and-Eighteen by John William Godward