Long means--sorry to state the obvious--not short. Like Twizzlers Rope Licorice vs. Nibs. Like the Niesen Railway in Switzerland--the longest stairway in the world at 11,674 steps--vs. the five steps up to the main level of our home from our living room. My definition of a long life, not that we are ever ready to say goodbye to a loved one, means eighty-something years and beyond. In light of recent losses in our church family and in our personal family, according to my dictionary, there have been some people taken way before they lived a long life. ​

What do we do when our definitions do not match God’s? When God uses His dictionary, perhaps He is inviting us to learn more about His higher ways and thoughts (Isaiah 55:9). While bringing tremendous comfort, Psalm 91 has also been that kind of invitation to me. It has caused deep digging, resulting in redefining and gaining better understanding of the abstract concept of eternal perspective. To us humans, death means the end. It is the end of so much. When someone we love dies, it is the end of the precious presence of that person. No more hugs or hearing their voice in conversation; no more of their bright ideas or their jokes that caused a chuckle with an eye-roll; no more of their wisdom or their help; no more of the sound of their cadence or their laugh. It seems very much like the end of their life. And yet, it is not. This is somewhat of a wrestling match between earthly reality and the reality of eternal life. Though we have no more of that person here with us, believers in Jesus who are absent from their body are very much present, whole, and living out long life, in the presence of our loving Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8). 

Recently, I journaled to the Lord about Psalm 91: Help me trust Your “long” even when it is not mine. I know that You don’t see our death on earth as the ending of life–our passing from here means being with You face to face, Jesus. That is not the end; it is the beginning. 

Divine definitions give divine perspective, which can refresh and bring tremendous comfort to our grief-fatigued souls. The hallmark verse that has been a lamp and light for me through four diagnoses and battles with cancer, losing my father and younger brother, and now *walking with my mom through late-stage metastatic breast cancer invites us to His higher way: May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13 NIV. I would define power as strength to take the next step and do the next thing. What I sense God revealing from His dictionary is more like power being the divine I AM flowing through us human Christ-followers as we yield to His Holy Spirit in us. No human power or strength is sufficient. Only He can fill us with joy and peace as we struggle and mourn. Only He can lift our gaze over the muck and mire to the glory of what will be but is not yet.
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May He indeed be the One Who defines not just words, but our lives as we surrender to Him. My Bible will continue to lie open on the ottoman to Psalm 91, acting as a reminder of the eternal perspective that God is teaching me. He promises long life according to His dictionary, and what other kind would I want? 

(*Mom has now gone to Heaven. My Bible is still open to Psalm 91, and God continues to give strength and peace.)

by Pam Morton

Over New Year's 2021, John and I watched a marathon of the show, "Alone." The producer distributes ten people throughout Vancouver Island with the goal of surviving in the vast Canadian wilderness for as long as they can...alone. Get it? The last person remaining wins a large sum of money and innumerable parasites. 

It's fascinating to see different personalities, alone and under stress, try to work out the best way to survive. Some immediately go to work and create a home of sorts, while others get by with the bare minimum. As the days pass and hunger increases, reasons to quit or tap out become more frequent. "This is not what I signed up for," said the guy chased by a bear. "BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!" said the electrician who can't hack his way through the brush. "I can't survive on one field mouse a day!" exclaimed a Baptist pastor. "I love being with Mother Earth, but my kids need me," said the part-hippie, part-herbalist. "Uh...I need help. I've had an axe accident," said the firefighter. "I never realized how hard it would be to be alone," said ALL of them. 
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The reasons mounted, until one by one, nine contestants tapped out. They were done. 

Wilderness, 9; Humans, 0.