Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.
Surely everyone goes around like a mere phantom; in vain they rush about, heaping up wealth without knowing who’s e it will finally be.
But now, Lord, what do I look for? My hope is in you.
Hear my prayer, Lord, listen to my cry for help; do not be deaf to my weeping. I dwell with you as a foreigner, a stranger, as all my ancestors were. Look away from me, that I may enjoy life again before I depart and am no more.
The psalmist struggles to contain his thoughts, for fear of dishonoring God, but they bust out. He feels death at his shoulder; life as insubstantial as a puff of wind. And he cries out to God to reassure and forgive him, and to remove his troubles.
Why?
Our life is like breadth, and flee away. Everything in the world is like a wine and gone, so as our life.
We are the foreigner, traveler. May God looks away from me, that I may enjoy life agains before I depart and am no more.
How?
My hope is in you, my Lord!
No comments:
Post a Comment