Poet Philip Larkin wrote a letter to a former classmate. At the time, Larkin was a 53-year-old man. Remembering the words of Moses who said, “The length of our days is seventy years,” he wrote, “If we equate the seven decades of a man’s life with seven days of the week, we are coming up to Friday luncheon.”
Larkin had a novel thought, comparing the seventy years of a person’s life with the seven days of the week. That means you are born early Monday morning and finish the week at midnight on the following Sunday.
It got me thinking. I was 67 at the time, so I asked myself, “Where does that put me on the seven-day week? Early Sunday evening!” At first I was slightly disturbed and said, “No, that can’t be right!” I’m not afraid to die, but I tend to concur with Mark Twain who said he wished he knew where he was going to die so that he would never go near the place.
We never know when the week gets cut short, or if we might live beyond 70. It is no wonder Moses added, “Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12).
At its longest, life’s journey is brief. What day of the week are you now in? What plans do you have for the rest of the week? It may be later in the week than you think. Never forget, however, that life does not really come in weeks or days, but in moments. Live them to the fullest. Live every day as if it were your last and have no regrets.