Is It Enough?

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets

In midnights, in cups of coffee

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure, a year in the life?

How about love?

How about love?

How about love?

Measure in love

On the way to work at the university this morning, I was listening to a song, and the lyric that caught my ear was when the singer sung, “. . . a million sunsets.”  I see a lot of sunrises, and quite a few sunsets, and it got me to thinking about how many I had seen in my lifetime . . . nowhere close to a million, but a lot of both.  That is a lot of sunsets!!  I thought that it was an interesting way to measure the span of one’s life . . . in sunsets.

Most of the time I measure my life like everyone else . . . one day at a time.  I figure every morning that I get out of bed and don’t see my name in the obituary section of the paper, that it must be a good day . . . plus a new personal record—one day longer than the day before.  So far, I am winning.  It feels good to be a record setter. 

I have never measured my life by the accomplishments in my life.  I have never set up a lot of trophies on the mantle or certificates on the walls, but that is a justifiable way of measuring one’s life.  Oh, sure, I have won a few trophies in my life . . . I have received more than my fair share of certificates, too . . . but outside of providing a little more insulation to the walls, most of them don’t mean a whole bunch when it comes to measuring my life.

Nor have I gotten into the game of church-hopping.  That is a big one with clergy . . . having to move up the ecclesiastical ladder to supposedly bigger and better churches before retiring.  I must be wired wrong when it comes to being a minister . . . I started big and have gone steadily south since then.  I served some big churches at the beginning of my ministry, but now I am serving the smallest . . . and, I am happy.  I have never measured my life by the churches I served.

Haven gotten older, I don’t measure my life by what I have accumulated either . . . I really don’t have much.  Yeah, it felt pretty good to owning our first house moving to Montana . . . it is nothing to write home about, but it is ours . . . and, we joined the rest of the rat race by jumping into major debt.  I guess we passed that milestone in life.  The reality is that I do not have a whole bunch accumulated that is worth a whole heck of a lot.  I have a whole bunch of beanie baby bears, stuffed in Mason jars, that are worth less than they were when I splurged to get them years ago.  I have a whole bunch of baseball, basketball, and football cards . . . my retirement fund . . . that aren’t worth much more than the price of the cardboard they are printed on.  Lots of books . . . t-shirts . . . sweatshirts . . . toys . . . and bobbleheads.  Not great accomplishments that one measures life by.  They are cool, though.

Nor do I measure it by the number of friends I have.  Hey, I am an introvert!  Introverts are not known for racking up huge numbers of friends.  I have friends, but nothing like a couple of thousand on Facebook or Twitter.  Shoot it was only a couple of months ago that I finally had a hundred friends on Facebook . . . and, ever since I have been trying to figure out how to politically correctly remove some.  I can count on one hand those individuals that I consider to be close friends, and most of them don’t even realize it.  If I am counting the longevity of my life by the number of friends I have, I should have died a long, long time ago.

Nothing close to a million sunsets . . . I figure the guy singing the song must have been close to a 250,000 years old to have witnessed a million sunsets . . . he was one old fart!  At my age—if I had witnessed every sunset since the day I was born—I would have seen a little over 20,000 sunsets . . . 20,000 sunrises.  I guess he was using generalization or he was one really, really old dude.

Having done more than my fair share of funerals I can tell you that one does not measure life by any of the stuff that I mentioned above . . . oh, I am sure there are those who do, but the majority of people do not measure a lifetime in those manners.  They might bet mentioned, but that is not the measure of a “good life.”  At least they are not when it comes time to remember at a funeral.  No, what people remember at funerals . . . what people end up measuring the length of a person’s life . . . are not milestones and accomplishments, but love.

One of my favorite songs from the musical Rent is the song, Seasons of Love.  In the musical there is a character who is dying of AIDS . . . a tragic end to any life.  The individual is a young person, under the age of thirty, which of course means everyone is lamenting the person’s premature exit from the adventure of life.  In trying how to understand the value and purpose of a person’s life, the cast sings the song, Seasons of Love.  Part of the song is quoted above.  In the song they mention all the ways that people think that a life is measured . . . daylights, sunsets . . . midnights . . . in cups of coffee . . . in inches, miles . . . in laughter . . . and, in strife . . . in minutes and hours.  How does one measure a lifetime?

The conclusion is . . . in love.

Love.  As a follower of Jesus, I believe that everything comes down to love.  That is what Jesus said was the foundation of the two most important commandments . . . love God, love your neighbor.  Love.  What else really matters in the end?  If we have loved, everything else will take care of itself.  I pray that this is the way that my life will be measured . . . by how well I have loved.  If I have done well in love, I will be remembered long after I am gone.  Sunsets and sunrises are beautiful, but they can never replace the radiance of love I have experienced and shared in my life.  Love is how we should measure our lives . . . nothing else compares.

Short Changed

I’m depressed.  Parade magazine put out its annual issue of “what people earn” . . . and, I am depressed.  Somewhere I have been short changed. 

Now I know that I am not a professional athlete—not even a good weekend warrior, and will never come close to earning the 19 million that Serena Williams earns each year for hitting a little yellow ball back and forth while grunting like a stuck pig. Maybe if I could win a gold medal at the Olympics I could pick up a couple of million . . . Gabrielle Douglas, age 17, earns a cool 10.25 million a year.  I am also not a singer—if that is what you think Justin Beiber does for approximately 33 million a year.  Adele, she is so good she only has one name, makes 32 million a year.  God didn’t bless me with a voice that can sing.  Nor, am I an actor like Brad Pitt who earns a cool 35.5 million a year . . . or Sofia Vergara who earns 21 million a year . . . but, I should get something for those times when I have to be contrite to the wife for screwing up . . . at least a nomination for an Oscar or a Razzie.  That should be worth a couple of bucks!  It is good acting!  I am not worthy of what these individuals get paid for what they do . . . whether or not what they do is of value to most of the world.

The annual report of peoples’ earnings is always fascinating to me . . . fascinating because I am nosey like everyone else and want to know what other people make.  I want to know so I can see how I stack up . . . and, what I am learning is that I don’t stack up very well.  I am being short changed.  I am grossly underpaid.  Being grossly underpaid, I always begin to think that maybe it is time for a career change.  Looking at what others make for what they do, I thought I could do that too.

For example, I saw that one lady was making $250,000 a year as a bridal shop owner.  I know a thing or two about weddings . . . but most of that experience is on the short end of the stick.  I could do it . . . until I start thinking about how wasteful most weddings are . . . lots of money spent on nothing.  I probably wouldn’t do well as I would encourage couples to elope and save their money for the future.  Buy a six-pack, see the county judge, and save a couple of thousands of dollars.  Bridal shop owner probably would not earn me much more than I am already making.

I saw that a sign language interpreter makes about $12,000 a year—way under what I make a year, but I do know sign language.  True it has been years (many years) since I have used my ability to sign, but I use sign all of the time . . . especially commuting back and forth from the big city.  But I do not think that there is much demand for a signer who basically uses one sign that means “good luck” in Hawaiian.  It is a sign I do well . . . it has got to be worth something to someone.

A Zumba instructor makes $24,000 a year . . . but that sounds like a lot of work.  I am tired thinking about it.  I saw where a sports columnist in Salt Lake City makes $64,993 a year reporting on sports.  I like sports, I can string a couple of sentences together and, I know the difference between football and “football”.  Shoot, I thought that if someone could make nearly 65 thousand a year in a city like Salt Lake City writing about sports where there are no sports . . . what could I make a year?  A bookstore owner in Florida makes $9,600 a year . . . I could never be a bookstore owner.  I love books . . . I couldn’t sale the books because I would want to keep them all.  I can see why she was so poorly paid.  Being a book lover is not a career that pays. 

The magazine listed one pastor on their list of what people earned.  It was a pastor in Mississippi who was pulling in a cool $31,500 a year.  Compared to her, my ministerial career is vastly underpaid.  But who ever put a price on the “good news” . . . like the MasterCard advertisements say, it is priceless.  Still, there was a little salary envy.

We live in a society that puts money on things to give it value . . . everything has a value it seems.  I learned long ago that value is subjective and what one person values, another person sees none.  I once thought that I could fund my whole retirement with sports cards . . . or beanie babies . . . I should pull out of that one in about another twenty years.  A sports card or a beanie baby is only worth what someone will pay for it . . . most people won’t pay a whole heck of a lot.  I think I got short changed in all of the hype. 

We have all seen those MasterCard commercials that list off all of these expensive items—for example, going to a major league baseball game.  They list the tickets (a couple of hundred), souvenirs (another couple of hundred), refreshments (about a hundred)—you get the picture as the money spent rings up.  Then they hit you with a picture of a kid with a big smile and they say, “Priceless.”  Yeah, I know, what they are trying to do is to get you to use their credit card at 20 percent interest, but they do touch on a truth . . . sometimes it is not the monetary value that is important, but the experience.

I cannot complain about the value of the life I have experienced . . . it has been priceless.  I have been blessed by God to have been able to experience a wonderful life with a spouse who loves me, children who love and tolerate me, and a congregation that puts up with me.  They have all allowed me to be a part of their lives and no amount of money could ever cover what I have received.  I live in a beautiful place where God constantly blesses me with a wondrous gift that I can find nowhere else . . . glorious mountains, splendid sunrises and sunsets, lots of cool critters, and a peace and tranquility no amount of money could ever buy.  I enjoy getting up and going to work at the university and at the church.  Monetarily, I might be short changed . . . experientially, I am blessed. 

Parade magazine focuses on what society thinks is important—money.  I think they are missing the point.  It is always about the money.  Ask the  lady who signs for people who cannot hear . . . or the lady who sells books . . . or the pastor who works all of the time.  They do not do what they do for the money . . . they do not see their value based on the money in the bank.  It is the opportunity to have the experience . . . make the relationships . . . and, to be blessed for the experience.  Money cannot buy everything . . . but it sure doesn’t hurt.  Nah, who am I trying to fool . . . I am actually pretty happy for what I am worth . . . it is priceless.