Following The Sun: The Folly Of The Big Moment

May 14

4 min read

“Have a great day, grandpa!” The teacher said with a smile, as I dropped my six year old daughter off at school.

I thought back to when I found out, at age 47, that I was having another child. People asked me how it felt to ‘start over;’ I wondered if I was up to the challenge. Our culture is obsessed with the One Big Moment. Luke blowing up the Death Star, a last second fumble on the goal line, a deathbed confession.

Culminations Not Explosions

Life has more gradual curves than sharp turns. When I made the small choice to go on a date, there was a chance I would meet someone amazing, which meant there was a chance I might remarry, which meant there was a chance I might have another child. Even big moments are really culminations, not sudden explosions of change.

Moses led the nation of Israel out of Egypt in dramatic fashion. But the path to that moment began with his heart being broken watching a slave being beaten forty years earlier. His personal exile from Egypt, work as a shepherd in the desert, encountering God at the burning bush, were just waypoints on the route to the Red Sea. And we find out later, crossing the Red Sea was just a waypoint on the path to Mount Sinai, where he documented a system of laws that would impact humanity for millennia.

In any given moment, my life is curving towards a future intersection, quietly building towards the next change. The crossroads captures my attention, but it would not exist without the road I took to get there.

An Eternal Story

The urgency and drama I apply to big transitions is also a function of how I view myself in time. If I think of my life as a short story with a finite but unknown end, every moment takes on a different kind of gravity. And, as there are more pages behind me than ahead of me, the questions build. Have I done enough? How much time is left? Will I be remembered? What is the point of planting seeds, if there won’t be enough tomorrows to harvest them?

But God does not see human life that way. Whatever moment lies ahead is not a pivotal chapter in a book that is about to end, but a tiny line in a story that will go on for eternity. Eternity is planted in the heart of humans[1]. The breath of God that made us human is a gift, and God’s gifts are irrevocable[2].

Paul wrote, “But even if our bodies are breaking down on the outside, the person that we are on the inside is being renewed every day. We don’t focus on the things that can be seen but on the things that can’t be seen. The things that can be seen don’t last, but the things that can’t be seen are eternal[3].”

We do not know exactly what comes next, but we can rest assured the story will continue. Through that lens, we can hold our moments in an open hand, trusting our eternity is not defined by a single circumstance. And we can approach each day, even our final days, as a worthy time to create and to build.

The Sun, Not The Horizon

A couple of years ago I boarded a flight from Atlanta to San Francisco just as the sun was getting low on the horizon. In the place where I sat, it would soon be night. But as we took flight and moved east to west, our plane was bathed in the gentle light of dusk for most of the trip. We were following the sun on its trip around the earth.

Our days are measured by the movement of the sun. It sets on one horizon and rises on another. If I stand in one place and orient myself there, eventually the sun passes, the day ends, and all goes dark. But if I orient myself to the sun, move to follow it on its path, my day never really ends.

I may pass over different lands, eventually slip over the horizon, but the day is never over. Because I am following the sun.

Chasing the Sun

Waiting in the no man’s land Between noon and dusk Ready to run Or to nap

A lazy afternoon Tracking the sun as it drifts Towards the end of things Admiring with satisfaction The fruit of my morning labor No shame in the hammock Head held high In the afternoon sun

Or perhaps...

Is there daylight enough For one more adventure? Can my tomorrows hold One more dream? Will I find strength to seize The back half of the day? My next steps made steady By the stumbles that came before