It's Probably Later Than We Think

On July 2, 1995, I came across a peculiar little verse in my Bible reading. Exactly three months later its significance and impact would startle me.

Most of 1 Chronicles 12 is a recitation of the military might of those who came to support King David. But sandwiched within that tribe-by-tribe enumeration of Israel's men of war is verse 32. Unlike the others, the men of the tribe of Issachar were not recognized for military prowess. Instead, their strength lay in understanding the times in which they found themselves.

I made a note in my journal. "Today we need such men, men who understand what to do for their families and their nation because they see the times in light of God's unfolding plan for the ages." Then on October 2, 1995, I discovered that the hour was much later than I could have ever imagined.

In the wee hours of that memorable Monday morning our daughter Jenny quietly slipped from time into eternity. Could I have known, I would have lingered a little longer during my visit with her the day before. Could I have known, I would have been more diligent to rearrange my schedule to put the most important things first. But there would always be tomorrow....

But we may not be given tomorrow to do the important things of today. They may be slipping through our fingers even now... then the hour will be gone.

To understand the times does not mean that we must know the future. But it does mean that we must discern the particular times that have provided to deal with particular opportunities. We will not always have our children, our parents, or our health. We will not always be able to work, to help others, or to restore broken relationships.

We must be people who understand the times--our own times--and act accordingly... while we have time. It's probably later than we think.

MY CHILDREN

I watch the golden grains of sand
Now sifting slowly through my hand:
They are my times with my children.

And as they each fall into place,
Upon the ground their patterns trace,
I see the lives of my children.

Thus one by one they mold and make
The shape and course young lives will take
In my few days with my children.

Eventually the grains are gone
And leave behind a haunting song:
Have I been true to my children?

So while I hold them in my hand,
Those precious golden grains of sand,
I'll give my all for my children.

James McAlister © 2000

Copyright 2000 James McAlister

Printer friendly version

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Parallel Tracks Of Good And Bad

The late Ron Dunn, a preacher whom I highly esteem, coined a truism I frequently lean upon: Good and bad run along parallel tracks and often arrive about the same time. Though some had warned us, nothing could have prepared us for our first visit to the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston. From children to the aged, the outward devastation of pernicious disease on frail human bodies overloaded our senses. They are courageous souls in hand-to-hand combat with a vicious enemy of seemingly inexhaustible tenacity. But they press on. To cover the almost-inevitable baldness that cancer treatment wreaks, many select colorful head scarves or stylish wigs as banners for their individual battles. Calling cancer a bad thing is a gross and trivial understatement. But even amid their roiling seas of trouble, good persists in bobbing to the surface as cancer patients openly discuss both defeats and victories. Without a hint of bitterness, Mr. Boudreaux relates the loss of a leg and other traumati...
Read more

Learning With Ollie In The School Of Basics

Oliver Wickerham Gatchell wouldn't have stood for it. Nope. He was just too practical. As I saw him do many times, he would have risen up and demanded an accounting. I first encountered him in 1963. I was a college freshman, and he was a crusty, white-headed old engineer teaching the most basic entry-level course. Whispers from the older students warned us: Ollie Gatchell would strike fear in our hearts. And so he did, making that initial engineering course a baptism by fire. On the first day of class, he didn't bother introducing himself. Instead, he instantly solidified his reputation with a challenge: "OK, you prospective engineers. Let's see who can figure out how to get the lead into his pencil." Nobody could. Those mechanical pencils were easily fumbled, but we did learn how to use them--thanks to the demanding Ollie Gatchell. Knowing the necessity of discipline and order in engineering work, he despised inefficiency and imprecision. One class period found u...
Read more