“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
Psalm 90:12 (NIV)
While September rushes in with renewed energy and focus after the playfulness, rest, and abundance of summer, the end of October marks the final turning point in the year. The fiery beauty of fall quickly unravels into the hush of winter, the shadows growing long as the last stubborn leaves rattle on barren branches.
November signals the twilight of the year.
And just like it does during the rhythm of each day, my heart starts to race. I feel a familiar tightness as I breathe. The drive to do accelerates: one more thing…just check this off the list…if I only had more time I could finish it all…
Underneath the pushing lie the questions:
Am I doing enough?
Does my work matter?
Did I do what is mine to do today?
When can I stop?
Picture this driven, rushing way of living as a raging fire, devouring all the life in its path. The kindling is my genuine desire to do what is mine to do and to live my “one wild and precious life” well tangled with the messages that I need to push, prove, and earn this belonging I so desperately seek. The wood burns so fast and hot because it has been soaked with the kerosene of scarcity: never enough time, never enough space, never enough accomplished, never enough as I am. And when the twilight of the year arrives, it lights the match igniting an insatiable blaze.
This inferno doesn’t just destroy moments and relationships; it burns our souls if we let it.
Instead of fanning the flames, what if we allowed twilight be a time to embrace life as it truly is…limited?
The sun is setting. The day is ending. The world spins madly on. As Christians who trust and live in communion with a good, gentle, loving Creator, what if we saw these limitations woven into creation and ourselves are not a burden to fight, but a gift to receive?
If you wrestle with a destructive drivenness or find yourself controlled by the whip of scarcity (never enough) in your days or find it rising in you during this time of year, let this be an invitation to practice surrender, release, letting go.
When you feel your pulse quicken and a weight settle on your chest, physically stop. Refocus your gaze on the sky as you open your palms and take a long, slow exhale followed by an equally long, slow inhale. Let the rhythm of your breath reconnect you back to your createdness, your dependence. Remind yourself out loud that you belong to a God of abundance, in whom there is always enough. Ask God for the wisdom to end this moment, this day, this season, this year, well.