Before you close your eyes tonight, it might serve you well to remember this mournful truth: our days are few, and they are full of trouble. Not pleasant to think about? No. But it may keep us from clutching too tightly to earthly things. It may humble us and stop us from boasting like the psalmist this morning who said, "My mountain stands firm! I shall never be moved!" It may keep us from sinking our roots too deeply into soil we'll soon be transplanted from when God moves us to the heavenly garden.

Think about how frail our hold is on everything we call ours. If we remembered that all the trees of earth are marked for the woodman's axe, we wouldn't be so quick to build our nests in them. We should love, yes—but we should love knowing that death comes. We should love counting on separations. Those precious people in your life? They're on loan. And the hour when we must hand them back to the One who lent them could be tonight.

The same goes for everything else we hold. Don't riches sprout wings and fly away? Our health is just as precarious. We are frail flowers in a field, and we cannot count on blooming forever. A time is already appointed for weakness and sickness, when we will glorify God through suffering instead of through earnest activity. There is not one corner of life where we can hide from affliction's sharp arrows. Not one of our few days is guaranteed to be free from sorrow.

Man's life is a cask full of bitter wine! He who looks for joy in it had better seek for honey in an ocean of brine. Beloved, do not set your affections on the things of earth. Seek what is above! Here, the moth devours everything. Here, thieves break in and steal. But there? There all joys are perpetual and eternal.

The path of trouble is the way home. Lord, make this thought a pillow for many a weary head tonight!