My latest Bible meditation (I don't always report on them any more) was from Job. He had a much worse go of it than what I'm currently enduring but in some ways I feel as though I can relate to his despair and anguish to some extent.
As we age time seems to accelerate and compress; it seems as though a day is only a couple of hours long now; a week a couple of days, and a month goes by in the time it used to take to pass a week.
Chapter 7 Verse 6 seems to mirror my experience almost exactly.
"My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and are spent without hope."
While normal people are anticipating the Advent, Channucha or Christmas, I don't celebrate much of anything any more nor do I look forward to anything. Too feeble and demented to do any of the things I used to enjoy, I feel like I'm just existing, running out the clock waiting for an Angel to come along and collect my soul and the earth to re absorb these mortal remains.
I have asked for a minimal but evangelical memorial and a "green" burial, with the body wrapped up in a cotton canvas drop cloth shroud and buried in a remote area (we don't have enough land for a home burial) about 4 ft. deep, which is the minimum recommended depth. 6 ft. is traditional but not necessary outside of a formal cemetery. No casket, no vault. I don't even care if I have a tombstone, and most green burial grounds don't allow them anyway.
Life is thankfully not entirely devoid of some bright spots; my dog still loves me as do my Daughter and grand kids, who I don't get to see all that much under all the pandemic restrictions.
I think there might be about 3 people I count as "friends" and several acquaintances, but I have fairly limited contact with them.
Old Job's 3 friends seem to have been, despite their best intentions, more of a pain in the proverbial arse than any comfort or encouragement.
The adult female custodian of the past 47 years or so puts up with me, which is undoubtedly more than I deserve so I really can't complain. At least she hasn't advised me to "curse God and die".... not yet anyway.
Besides that I'm not rolling around in the ashes down at the town dump scraping my pestilent flesh with a piece of broken pot like Job was.
Things could be a lot worse.
