A Well Lived Life

When the sun turned down for the day and golden light peaked through the edges of my living room blinds throwing glistening shadows onto dim walls, my eyes assumed the same golden gleam with thoughts of recent hours. The sun grew over walls and furniture—and all the swells of the day—for the hour or so of light’s gold: the dining room table where a candle earlier sped and smoked, the distant corner of the kitchen where orange slices were held and bites were taken alongside grins and chats, and the stairs that withheld against pounded motions of every happening, whether languid and clomping or running late with clipping.

My lips met spiced tea and my mind swelled over those waves of the day, freeing the memories that active minutes compress—enumerating the menagerie of surges and stages. Finally, the thought came as the sun yielded to the downward pull and the last spark was gone before night’s scroll was unrolled—Was this one well lived?

The last light fell, and I had all appreciation for that unique sunset slice of the day—it was like the lightning that flares when a person of mystery speaks revealingly and the rarity only adds to gratitude and wonder, leaving a trace of want for when it will happen again. So, a sunset does not grace the every minute, and with the last light, today’s provoked, Can you be content to mirror many other days after today’s strains?

Now, if one can enter near, a late octo- or nonagenarian might musingly review not a day of life for Christ, but a life. The gray hair of the godly, that crown of splendor and honor (Prov. 16:13), affords its own glow for watching eyes—perhaps the brightest and fiercest sparks of belief and holy desire. Chair close, one hears of minds that have worked and worked, and of hearts’ resolve, and eternity’s splendor in sight from earliest days. One might hear of children and family, and friendships and ministry while witnessing the effects of prayer’s secret dependency. One will certainly hear of Christ, as the godly gray are naturally nearest, anticipatorily, to see His face in all of glory’s bright.

In these, my elders, I’ve seen steps of resolve, commitment to the path that is straight. Steps that haven’t veered back and away or circled, as with a loose, stray connection—but have traveled steadily, with a resolve that started from the dedication of earliest teenage days (Ecclesiastes 12:1). I’ve heard of consistency in studying, of adeptness with mastering one day’s portion of Scripture at a time to accumulate wealth, a considerable responsibility—without having been shirked or shunned, but received as weighty and worthy duty (Prov. 1:7, 2:2; 2 Tim. 2:15). I’ve noticed the freedom and joy, and sole honor for Christ, in the gray-haired whose finances have long reflected the weight of eternity and Scripture’s guiding hand, for whom money has not directed decisions of value, for the path to heaven is highest (Matt. 6:19, 23).

Pure sparks have graced my sight of love for family, care for husbands and wives while in view of a marriage-honoring God (Heb. 13:4), and for the ministry that began in one’s home—how instruction and love of children has not been seen as secondary but as prized with piles of devoted time (Deut. 6:5-9). With the family of God, I’ve seen the peace of relationships that are deemed successes if giving has been sacrificial—where mutuality has been warmly welcomed, but personal fulfillment has not been given the status of being the aim or goal (Phil. 2:3). I have beheld how the deposit of truth has been regarded—the fountain for unity (2 Tim. 1:14; Rom. 16:17-20) and how speaking its core message of the King has served as compassion for those in the dark (Rom. 10:14).

Gazed fixed, I have gleaned themes of wisdom, that when tutors have been sought for the school of saintly life, selectivity and standards have been welcomed by all. For good mentors have been careful to bow and exegete well the holy Word—pointing to those who have been advanced in maturity and dedication—with thoughtfulness to approve by Scripture every influence, faithfully, no matter the cost (1 Cor. 11:1; Phil. 1:9-10). Now, when I hunt for their lives of prayer, I scarcely collect in my sight all that’s certainly there—for they are faithful to the Lord’s instruction, to maintain reverent secrecy (Matt. 6:5-6). Yet, in their lives’ humility and given trust, evidence abounds of those who have long ago settled that they can do nothing, would never want to do anything, apart from Him (John 15:5; Phil. 4:11-13).

I’ve traced my hand over a life’s day to follow the sparkling-sun-movement, a sun still graciously lasting by God’s hand to have come this evening after visiting lives of all ages. And as golden hours will double and triple and more in my experience, Lord willing, tomorrow and the next day again, I will have less and less propensity for youthful doubtfulness in the truth that my days are short—just as He has said (Jas. 4:14). My home will travel through sunset again; while I sip that tea and steep in the swells, the lightning spark of want noted in my day-end light—my question—is now seated in Scripture’s witness to imitate those whose whole lives have already been well lived for Him (Heb. 13:7; 2 Thess. 3:9; 1 Cor. 4:16).

---

This post was originally published at For The Church.

A Good Relationship with the Future

On moving day, I mostly reclined, having been barred from packing heavy items, lifting boxes or furniture, and reaching to hang pictures or put items in tall cabinets. This was a benefit of making the move late in the third trimester of pregnancy. Watching, I thought to myself, This is it—this is my future. 

But those words were starting to have less and less of their desired affect on me, and I knew it.

After all, we had lived in three different homes within two years, and I had said the same thing to myself about each one. From my sitting perch, I was directing the placement of pieces of furniture, rugs, plates, and pictures. I could direct the future as well as my very pregnant self could have, say, lifted the piano into the foyer. But that did not keep me from making claims on permanency, despite every move doing more to dampen my attempts at accomplishing it.

I had left behind visions for a lasting home. I could not think too much about those past homes, with their failed hopes of staying, without cringing. The start of a new one had me wondering if its claims toward permanency would eventually fade, too.

Fearfully Grasping an Uncertain Future

Daniel in the Bible knew something about a lack of permanency after being exiled from his home country at a fairly young age, when it was conquered by the king of Babylon. Daniel’s relationship with the future was on display when the king, Nebuchadnezzar, wanted the “wise men” of Babylon to interpret a dream that was especially troubling to him (Daniel 2:1-16).

This was a standard request in that day, especially for a culture that believed their gods spoke through dreams.1But this young king had a unique request: that these men first tell him, supernaturally, the dream itself. If they could not speak of this secret knowledge, he would kill them all. By “kill them all,” he did not mean only those who had been given an opportunity to speak with him—he meant allthe wise men of Babylon. This included God’s faithful servant, Daniel.

Of course, the men could not do as the king requested, failing to interpret his dream. Daniel was not included in this initial group.

The young king may have desired to prove himself tough enough for the job, or to prove his men loyal. Yet, he was likely troubled because he feared for his uncertain future, as implied in his dream. In Nebuchadnezzar’s worldview, a troubling dream meant fearing for his security. He took this as reason to set aside all prudence with the sole purpose of understanding its meaning. To him, his health, wealth, and kingdom—all that secured his future—was subject to the untethered whims and impulses of the gods.

So, right as the blood was about to be shed and the guards made their way to Daniel, he asked a question to understand:

Then Daniel replied with prudence and discretion to Arioch, the captain of the king’s guard, who had gone out to kill the wise men of Babylon. He declared to Arioch, the king’s captain, “Why is the decree of the king so urgent?” Then Arioch made the matter known to Daniel. (Daniel 2:14)

Nebuchadnezzar serves as a good foil for Daniel. After all, Daniel was confronted with his own dire circumstance because of the king. What did Daniel do when the guards came to him with the order to kill? He asked a question. Then, he made a request for time.

Because of his careful efforts, he was given the opportunity to demonstrate that his God had control over all things—past, present, and future. The first actions he took when facing his impending death were deliberate, calm, prudent, and discerning. Unlike Nebuchadnezzar, his priority was not to do whatever was necessary to secure the status of his future in this world. He took the matter carefully into account, including his standing with the king that allowed him to make the request for time, along with the king’s unwieldy temper that required his calm planning. Daniel faithfully based his actions upon those calculations. When he was about to be killed, he demonstrated a good relationship with his future—whatever his future on earth might be.

Prudently Evaluating a God-Ordained Future

Sitting in my home months after our move, and looking around at the furniture and hangings on the wall, I have the impression of what I want. We are settled into every corner of this place. My nine-month-old baby is playing with her things, which means picking up each toy for a brief examination and then tossing it behind her—one toy after the other. That is the message I have had for my things; they have all been tossed around over the past months, moved in and out, in and out. Perhaps this is actually a message they tell about my claims on staying. Either way, they speak far more to me about uncertainty than about being settled.

Perhaps this was one benefit for Daniel of having been exiled: not believing his permanency to be dependent upon his location. I want a good relationship with my future, too—to resemble Daniel’s calm in uncertainty, as opposed to Nebuchadnezzar’s recklessness. Daniel knew both that the future was to be wisely evaluated and, simultaneously, that it was not his to determine.

Daniel’s perspective about the future allowed him to use prudence in three ways:

• Daniel used prudence to plan:“The wisdom of the prudent is to discern his way, but the folly of fools is deceiving” (Proverbs 14:8).

• Daniel used prudence in being cautious:“The prudent sees danger and hides himself, but the simple go on and suffer for it” (Proverbs 27:12).

• Daniel used prudence to weigh and discern:“The simple believes everything, but the prudent gives thought to his steps” (Proverbs 14:15).

Daniel, however, could only be planning, cautious, and discerning because of the God of providence. Of any foil in this story, the gods of Nebuchadnezzar best juxtapose the one true God. These non-existent gods could not reveal Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, nor did they inspire in Nebuchadnezzar any calm or care. But the one true God is sovereign and all-knowing, inspiring prudence and praise. When God reveals the dream, Daniel worships:

Blessed be the name of God forever and ever,

to whom belong wisdom and might…

…he reveals deep and hidden things;

he knows what is in the darkness,

and the light dwells with him.

To you, O God of my fathers,

I give thanks and praise,

for you have given me wisdom and might,

and have now made known to me what we asked of you,

for you have made known to us the king’s matter. (Daniel 2:20, 22-23)

Our furniture, rugs, plates, and pictures fit so well in this home, but the question of staying is for God alone to answer. Were I to answer it, I would be like the imprudent Nebuchadnezzar, looking to the gods on their perches for understanding. I would be the false gods, too, reacting to my future through untethered whims and impulses.

Rather, Daniel’s God is our God. He has worked all things together for our salvation by providentially arranging the workings of the world to accomplish it:

Men of Israel, hear these words: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with mighty works and wonders and signs that God did through him in your midst, as you yourselves know—this Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men. (Acts 2:22-23)

Furthermore, he has providentially called us to himself for all eternity:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose. For those whom he foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, in order that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. And those whom he predestined he also called, and those whom he called he also justified, and those whom he justified he also glorified. (Romans 8:28-30)

If the transience of life feels counter to the solid circumstances you desire, remember that the gospel secures an eternal future with all permanency and staying-power. This permanency is ours as solidly as Christ defeated sin and death; ours as surely as he is in the heavenly places now; and ours as permanently as Christ’s victory is everlasting. Fittingly, “prudence” is an alteration of the word “providence.” For the praiseworthy providence of God demonstrated in the gospel is the prudent person’s most important calculation of all.

---

1. Rhodes, Ron.  40 Days Through Daniel. Eugene, Oregon: Harvest House Publishers, 2016.

---

This post was originally published at Unlocking the Bible.