What I learned by turning 43

Read Time: 6 minutes

by AJ Canterbury

Last month, I celebrated my 43^rd birthday. The age sprung up on me with a speed and ferocity I had not seen coming. I was still getting acclimated to announcing (admitting) I was 40, and here I was now at 43 firmly established as IN my 40s.

Turning a year older stopped being fun for me once I reached 25. Nothing significantly tragic happened that year; the number, itself, hit me hard. Twenty-five, half a century old, ended the age milestones I looked forward to. 

At 25, it felt like the conductor hollered “All aboard’, and now the train only stopped at the decade stations, (30, 40, 50). I could watch my youth blur passed the window as the train drew nearer to its next stop, but there was no slowing the train.

A dismal view I admit. I love celebrating my birthday, it’s the getting older and losing hold of my youth which bothers me. This is nothing more than my pride and vanity chirping and does not merit the attention I often give it.

But this year, my birthday stirred my heart with unique meditations. My mom had just turned 43 when she passed away from brain cancer. The thoughts delved even deeper since my mom died on her birthday. This meant that every single day I live beyond 43 is a day more than she got to see.

A sobering and humbling reflection.

I spent the day ruminating about what it meant to turn 43 and settled on these take-aways:

They are not guaranteed so the years can only be counted as a gift. It makes every moment precious.

1. Time is a Thief

On occasion, Time seems more like a person than a measurement. Time can be unabashedly rude, demanding everyone to adhere to his strict schedule. He is not concerned if you have enough of it and ignores all pleas for more of it.

Our days are numbered and our time fixed.

And Time descended suddenly on my mom that summer, cutting short all her plans. As the mother of five, the oldest a fresh adult and the youngest only 9 months old, she still had much left to do. Time must have gotten the schedule wrong because her time could not have been up.

Everyone remarked how young my mom was when she passed, and I agreed then with as much awareness as a kid could. But it wasn’t until I turned 43, that I fully understood how young she truly had been. I know my mom had so much more that she expected to do because I have plenty I still look forward to doing.

The journey between 20 to 40 takes less time than you anticipate, and the years between those decades contain a lot of memories. I spent a considerable amount of time this birthday focused on all the times she missed, but also on all I hoped to do with my future if time allowed.

And the crushing reality I encountered was how time is a thief, and I don’t have the advantage or ability to combat it. I just sit in submission of it.

I would have despaired, if time answered to no one.

 

God, ultimately, did what was best and what was most wise, losing hold of one would carry me out of orbit as if my tether had been snapped.

• I must trust in the deep wisdom of God

But time reports to a higher authority. It does not independently govern the length and events of an individual’s days. Scripture tells us, God is the one who fixes the years of our lives; he alone decides how much time any of us have.

Job 14:5 says of Man, “…His days are determined, and the number of his months is with you, and you have appointed his limits.”

If I desired to preside in judgement over the one responsible for cutting my mom’s life short, God would be the one to challenge. He called the shots, numbering the days everyone gets. Job got put in his place when he attempted to go up against God, so I doubted I could achieve a different outcome.

Is there any less reason to despair even though time is not the final authority? Is there comfort in knowing God oversees our days?

The answer to the question is absolutely. In my previous post, What to Do The Day God Is Not Good, I drew the conclusion that God, by nature, is good. Therefore everything he does is good, both for his people and for his name.

And in When The God Of The Unexpected Wrecks Your Life, we discovered that God, in his infinite wisdom, always does what is right. So even when his actions and decisions are confusing, he can be trusted. 

As I reflect on the early death of my mom, I need to hold tight to both of these doctrines. God, ultimately, did what was best and what was most wise. If I lost my grasp on either one, I would be carried out of orbit as if my tether had been snapped.

There is nothing easy about accepting those truths. Everything in my humanity wants to buck at this conclusion, to rebel against it, and call it unfair. It takes constant reminders to myself on who God has revealed himself to be. Good doctrine is what I must cling to.

Although not easy, I find the truth liberating and comforting. I can trust the actions of a God who has such a steadfast and faithful character. 

Everything in my humanity wants to buck at this conclusion, to rebel against it, and call it unfair.

• Every moment is precious

I keep wanting to refer to my mother’s life as being cut short, but Psalm 139 challenges that. “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb…in your book was written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was not one of them” (13-16).

From the beginning of her days in my grandma’s womb, my mom had 43 years, no more, no less. From my perspective her life was over too soon, robbed of the time she should’ve had. But that’s not how God would describe it.

Everything my mom accomplished in her life (the children she had, the decisions she made, the people she loved and touched), they all happened according to the days that were written for her. There was nothing left undone, nothing God had planned for her that she just ran out of time to do.

The cancer hadn’t cheated her of time; it doesn’t wield that kind of power. The length of her life was measured out, intended and appointed, by the Sovereign One.

That has been the most difficult thing for me to square. I want to hold the position that my mom was cheated of her life. I can’t fathom a reality where a mother of young ones only gets 43 years.

Ever since my Friedreich’s Ataxia diagnosis, I have often wondered how long my life will be. Will I live on for decades or am I already in the twilight of my time? There is no concrete expectation for me to consult. The reality is that something else can get me long before the Friedreich’s Ataxia ever does.

It occupied my thoughts this birthday that God would grant me more days than my mom. Just a cursory glance would communicate that the guy in the wheelchair with the neurological disability would have a shorter lifespan than a young mother, but it hasn’t gone that way.

Because l cannot be certain how long my life will be, everyday carries significance. They are not guaranteed so the years can only be counted as a gift. It makes every moment precious.

• Each day is meant to be lived

The common thread to my reflections reveals how little I understand the specifics. I know God ordained the amount of years my mom had on the earth just as he has ordained my own. And I know that his character is both good and wise so I can trust him.

It’s a lot to know about everything surrounding the issue, but why he has granted me more time remains a mystery. To be honest, I don’t really need an answer.

It is a fact that my life has been longer than my mom’s, and that paints things in a fresh perspective. If I have been given this time, I want to make it count. Every morning my eyes open to a new day, it’s bestowed on me by the giver, and time is not handed out by accident.

How do I make each day count?

“Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of time, because the days are evil” (Eph 5:15-16).

Since the days are full of trial, trouble, and wickedness, Paul is calling the Ephesians to live everyday with wisdom. God’s word gives no short list of how to live wisely. These verses spring to mind: to seek justice and love mercy (Micah 6:8); to love God with every part of your being and love your neighbor as yourself (Mark 12:30-31); fear the Lord and despise foolishness (Prov. 1:7). 

Making each day count requires adhering to the instructions of scripture, having it infiltrate every thought and action. What joy I’d find hitting the pillow each night recalling how my words were infused with his wisdom, and I could rest knowing I had faithfully elevated God and pointed others toward the gospel.

The reality is I fail at this often. I reached the conclusion two months ago to make each day count, and even in that small lapse of time I couldn’t do it faithfully. However, it’s still a worthwhile target and shouldn’t be discarded just because it’s hard.

We master making the most of our time by letting scripture shape our mind through the reading of his word, by praying that he would draw our attention to the ways he is working in our lives, and by keeping the objective in front of our eyes.

Because everyday is a gift, I want to influence my world with his light every moment. It is a high goal to be sure. But taking advantage of time celebrates my mother’s memory and honors the giver of time.

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