For years now, I’ve called my grandmother weekly. We have this ritual, and it goes something like this: “Hi Granny.” “Oh, hi, Honey. My knees are really aching me. It’s going to rain, you know.” It’s always about to rain, even when it’s not. Then, she’ll tell me about her back, her neck, her heart, and all the other aches and pains her 81-year-old body is enduring.

I don’t mind, as I imagine that I’ll probably moan worse later on about my aches and pains. My husband would tell you I’m very bad about it already. Yesterday, though, it occurred to me that for the first time, my own list of pains was quite longer than an old lady’s list. After she finished with her ailments (but before she went into her speech about what’s wrong with this country and how Hitler once had all the answers), I mentally noted my own long list: nausea, back pain, acid reflux, sleep deprivation, various cold symptoms, and general feeling of wanting to jump out of my skin. I didn’t mention it aloud, of course.

My husband has been reading selections to me in the evenings from Piper’s Life as a Vapor. After he reads, he’ll tell me that I shouldn’t despair about my uncomfortable state, and then I’ll say, “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one throwing up.” But then I’ll concede that the point he just read is valid. We are made for God’s glory, and we are here for only a short while.

Life is a vapor, and I’m reminded of this at every turn. Our friend, a young mother, was taken to eternity recently without warning. We expected death later, and we were shocked when it encroached on us earlier. Holly wrote yesterday about visiting the graves of infant children, and I was reminded of a similar experience and reaction. When we visited an old graveyard last summer, I noted to Greg the remarkable number of children and infants who slept there. It is not that way anymore; newborn, infant, and childhood death is a rarity. But how do we repay God for His sparing us modern folks this once common heartbreak? Often, with immature theology and no respect for His omniscience.

This two-minute video sums it up nicely:

The message of the tiny book, Life As a Vapor, I think, is that since our time is short, we ought to live (and suffer) in such a way that makes Christ look great. Since we are His and He is ours, our satisfaction in Him (which includes the tiniest details of how He orders things, including our troubles) brings Him the most glory. The heavens declare His glory and we ought to too. It’s what we were made for.