A Prayer at 30

The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever. - Isaiah 40:8

Preach the gospel, die, and be forgotten. - Count Zinzendorf

Only one life, 'twill soon be past. Only what's done for Christ will last. - C.T. Studd

Reflection

My dear Lord, today I am thirty. There is a part of me that mourns—I have not marked future history books like others at this age: Alexander the Great, Mozart, Steve Jobs, Jesus.

But You have not called me to be Great; You have called me to be faithful. And, by Your grace, I have not wholly failed that. On the whole, I have spent my twenties—"the best years of my life"?—caring for Your people (in ministry), and preparing to care for them better (in seminary). It's not being Steve Jobs. But it's not a waste, either.

There is another part of me that mourns the loss of my youth. Time only moves in one, inexorable direction. Skin is born to sag as surely as sparks fly upward. But You have never been ungood to me, and surely Your goodness and mercy shall follow me all my days, even to old age and gray hairs.

Plea

For the past decade, this has burned in my bones:

"All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the LORD blows on it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever." - Isaiah 40:6-8

If I know anything, it is that I will soon be gone. My life is a vapor. But You and Your Word are forever.

Please help me to live for forever things—for You and Your Word. As John Piper says: Please save me from a wasted life! Please save me from lesser things! Please save me from the American Dream. Please save me from a complacent life in the suburbs, living for myself and not for radical generosity like my Lord.

Let my gospel not be something that I merely teach; let it be my very life. "For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." Let this be still my only hope in life and in death—not how well I live and die, but how well Christ lived and died: His blood and righteousness.

Please let this be my obsession until I die.

Thank You

I may die tomorrow. Or I may die after years and decades and generations more.

Either way, thank You, my Lord.

I deserved nothing but Your wrath forever, but You put all my wrath on Christ. You chose me before time, even when You knew every sin I would ever commit! You sent Christ to bring me to You and make me Your son. You drew me when I was running away; You opened my eyes to Your gospel. You gave me Your Spirit as a guarantee. Now You are working all things for my good, and nothing can separate me from Your love.

So thank You, my Lord.

You gave me a family who loves me; a church in which I can love and be loved; friends who sharpen me, soften me, and encourage me in all the right ways; and a job that I would do for sheer joy.

So thank You, my Lord.

Theologians say that You give "common grace." But it is not common—the colors of Van Gogh! The sound of Regina Spektor! The taste of coffee!

Years ago, my hero Rich Mullins said, "People say it's not fair that people should die when they are 18. I go, wow, it's unfair that should be able to live until we are that old."

It's unfair that I have breath in my lungs, laughter in my eyes, and Christ in my heart. It's pure, undiluted grace.

So thank You, my Lord. I love You.