I stood at the window with my coffee in hand, enjoying the unique stillness of a Saturday morning. The clouds in the eastern sky were blushing, in anticipation of the sun’s imminent arrival. Between me and them, a mist was rising, like the earth’s exhaled breath—growing, shifting, and dispersing, glowing in the golden morning glory. A breath. A vapour. This is what King Solomon called life itself, in the book of Ecclesiastes. Like your own breath in the crisp winter air—you can see it and feel the warmth of it, but the one thing you can never do is hold it.
You might think that King Solomon was a pretty depressed guy to say things like this. Fair enough—he does say at one stage that he “hated life” because of how quickly everything you do and build and work for and love fades and disperses, especially after you’re gone (Ecclesiastes 2:17ff). He saw life honestly. Realistically. How can we argue? Look at the generations before us, and how quickly one passed into another and another and now we’re here and we’re already passing into the next generation and the vapour is rising and the wind is picking up but we’ve got these few glorious moments in the golden sunshine—and what will we do with them? The wise King said that vapour-life is not a curse if you learn to enjoy it (Ecclesiastes 5:18-20). But can you really enjoy life, when you see how transient it is? When it slips through your fingers no matter how tightly you clench them? Yes, you can.
According to King Solomon, enjoying life comes from seeing it for what it is, not trying to make it into something it isn’t. He says life is a gift from the hand of God. Every day, every blessing, every moment in the sun is pure grace from a Creator who is everything we are not—eternal, solid, and unchanging. The sun that shoots through the morning mist and makes it shine so gloriously is his light, and “every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows” (James 1:17). Every breath. Every smile. Every slice of warm bread and ray of light sparkling across the water. The wind moves the tree tops, and our lives move from our first steps, greeted with cheers, to our last, with tears. We are only a vapour—a breath in the morning, rising, growing, and dispersing. If you try to grasp life and hold it and store up its beauties and gifts you’ll always be frustrated and depressed. You won’t even be able to enjoy the good gifts you have, because you’ll always be afraid of losing them. Settle this in your mind right now: you will lose them, one way or another. Either they will go, or you will.
There is only One who can sustain your breath beyond your short season on earth—the same One who breathed life into you in the first place. He has promised more gifts to his children, who trust him—gifts without end, all the way through eternity—but the gifts he gives you today are temporary, just like everything else on this planet. So unclench those fists, and enjoy the gifts, even as they slip through your fingers. Enjoy them for what they are, while you have them. Celebrate the day you’re in, right now. Live in the light of God’s glory, and rise to meet him, knowing that nothing on this earth can ever last, and nothing in God’s generous, eternal promises to his children can ever fade away. You can’t control God’s gifts, or hold them beyond the time they’re given—but you can enjoy them right now, and trust him with the rest.
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