Wishing Away

It must have been about this time of year, years ago. The days were brutally hot and long. A high school buddy was roughnecking, doing all the dirty oil field work, the hot and nasty work no one else would do, from dawn to dusk, mostly a younger man’s work. It’s like roofing a house meets ditch-digging in scalding mid-summer. About mid-day, my friend and all of his co-workers began cursing the heat, complaining, wishing the day would end.

An "old" man working the same job, someone probably about fifty, overheard their complaining, turned to them and said, "When you guys get to be my age, you’ll learn to stop wishing your life away." Years later, as my friend’s children started leaving home and time’s wear and tear began taking its physical toll, he recalled that as one of the wisest bits of unsolicited counsel he’d ever received.

How many times this month I’ve wished for late September, early October. Anything to break the string of long, hot, humid and rainless days that just keep coming. Mid-wishing, the old man’s caution came to me again.

We do presume so much, don’t we? We presume we have tomorrows to wish for, more days to be with friends and family, more opportunities to pursue a dream. We presume tomorrow will be easier, or better. In fact, all we really have is this day. The day the Lord has made and in which we should rejoice.

No matter how hot or humid or dry or long, this very day is the sacred gift of God. This day is my life. When I wish away the day, I’m wishing away my very life.