Day 24: Psalm 90

April 22, 2020
Day 24: Psalm 90

Like many of you, I’ve found myself taking fewer trips to the grocery store these days, which has meant Rosanna and I have eaten some creative lunches, trying to avoid the crowds and extend what’s in our pantry.

The other day I found an avocado in the pantry that hadn’t expired, and I had a slight worship service. When Rosanna commented that she was surprised I was so excited to find it, I said, “This is the reality of day 31 of a quarantine. I dance when I find an avocado.” I think it’s interesting how in this quarantine, we lose sight of what day it is, but I have heard the question a lot, “How many days have we been in this?” “How many more days are we going to live like this?”

The Psalmist teaches us to number our days. Psalm 90:12 says it this way:

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

God is obviously a God who likes to count. In Luke, it says that God has counted the number of hairs on our head. Psalm 147 says that He’s determined the number of stars. In quarantine, we are learning to count. To pay attention. We are numbering our days, a habit of the Psalmist, but not a habit of pre-quarantine people who race from one activity to the next in a flurry of activity. Interestingly, there is a connection between our ability to number the days, and to be wise with them at the same time. When each of my children were born, it dawned on me that I had 7000 days with them until they graduated high school. I think about that number a lot. Every so often, I check to see how many days until they turn 18.

There is a wisdom to knowing the amount, or numbering the days. It gives a perspective on how precious the resource of time is. When we number our days, we are wise with them. What has God given you that you take for granted? A marriage? A job? A child? One day the sand runs out. What are the “avocados” God has hidden in your pantry, that you have taken for granted?

Learning to count the days, the grains of sand, gives perspective on how special the smallest gifts are.

Jared