She was giddy, shouting across the golden sand as she raced down the beach. “Daddy, come quick!” I (Peter) had just arrived with my family in Newport Beach, California, and Lili was more than a little enthusiastic. Learning to surf proved far more difficult than anticipated, so in lieu of riding waves we decided to build a sandcastle.

With just a few basic tools, we built the most magnificent castle ever. It had a central fortress almost as tall as my daughter, which was guarded by thick, well-constructed walls. Every other castle ever constructed looked paltry by comparison.

As the morning wore on, I noticed the tide coming in. Lili and I had taken pains to build our castle far from the destructive waves, but apparently I underestimated the water’s reach. Hours of work were under imminent threat.

As one wave washed dangerously close, Lili pleaded, “Daddy, we need to build thicker walls!” We worked furiously as the unrelenting waves lapped closer and closer. But finally a single wave breached the outer wall, causing the sandcastle to collapse. 

What happens to castles of sand also happens to castles of steel. Our greatest works are subject to ruin. How many bulletproof business plans, ironclad deals and rock-hard bodies have melted before a wave? Fast or slow, the tide is coming in. And when it does, it will erase virtually all evidence of our ever being here.

This realization hits especially hard in midlife. By age forty, we begin to understand how quickly life passes. Just twenty years past, we were in college; just twenty years future, we’ll be senior citizens. It’s an inflection point, and it raises a key question that needs to be answered: What’s the point of living if everything is dying? Can our fleeting lives leave enduring legacies?

The Art of Fitting into the World
Someone once said that wisdom is the art of fitting into the world. It’s understanding reality and then flowing with it. It’s going with the grain of the universe rather than always cutting across it.

We fit ourselves into the world as it actually is all the time. Already today you’ve expertly navigated it. You acknowledged the rigidity of walls and entered rooms via doors. You didn’t bother trying to jump to the second floor, accepting the limits of gravity. Instead, you smartly strode up stairs, deftly lifting one foot higher than the other. You rightly considered it wisest to brew coffee with hot water and to rinse toothpaste with cold. You drove on the right side of the road, at the posted speed, honoring all traffic signs and courteously deferring to other drivers, right? (Okay, there may be limits to this illustration.)

But you get it. You’ve exercised wisdom and discernment in dealing with reality. These things are what they are and to try to manipulate them differently would be foolish.

Yet this is precisely what led to Solomon’s frustration throughout the book of Ecclesiastes. Through all his considerable strengths, he was trying to make enduring marks on the world. But it was futile. “Meaningless! Meaningless!” he cried. “Everything is meaningless!” (1:3). Why? “No one remembers the former generations,” he wrote, “and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them” (1:11). The sands of time and the cycles of nature erased them all.

But what if the brevity of our lives was not an emblem of futility but a pointer to futurity? What if it made us look further and higher for meaning? This would move us to go with the flow, to get with the program, to submit ourselves to the larger plan. In the Bible, this is called “keeping covenant,” and almost nothing matters more.

The Duty of All Mankind
In Ecclesiastes 12:13, Solomon writes: “Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter: Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the duty of all mankind.”

Fear God and keep his commandments—that’s covenant keeping, and it’s “the duty of all mankind.” But that’s a paraphrase. The word duty isn’t in the original text but the word whole is. A literal translation would be, “This is the whole of man.”

This is it—the whole shooting match. There’s nothing more, nothing less. All you have to do is faithfully fit yourself into this reality.

King David is a good example in this regard: “When David had served God’s purpose in his own generation, he fell asleep; he was buried with his ancestors and his body decayed” (Acts 13:36). That’s not the most elegant summation of a life, but it’s a valuable one. David served God in his day. Then he died. Then he decayed. Simple as that. From there it’s on to glory, which God promises all his people will share, irrespective of the fame or anonymity of their previous lives.

It’s not complicated.

Start Passing It On Now
If we fit ourselves into the world, the fleeting nature of life will make it easier to live freely and lightly on earth. We’ll live with a sense of proportion, doing the things that matter most and leaving the rest to God and others. We’ll seek to give more than we receive. We’ll walk in constant gratitude for this day, because future days are not guaranteed.

And when we pass, we’ll pass it on. Some people lament leaving their things to others. But why not delight in it? Perhaps your daughter will take your china and remember you at holiday meals. Maybe your son will put the heirloom clock in his home, a memento to the times you spent together.

A colleague, Ashley, shared how her grandmother wanted to simplify the process—and maybe enjoy the knowledge of where her stuff would go. So she gave everyone a roll of masking tape and a marker. “Just walk around the house and put your name on the bottom of anything you’d like to have when I’m gone,” she cheerfully quipped. Her family just stared, aghast. Nobody moved a muscle. Then an elated granddaughter took off running, determined to be the first to tape her name under the house!

Somebody’s going to mark your stuff with his or her name. Be all right with that. 

Human beings are role players in an epic drama. God directs, Jesus stars and we stand as townspeople in a cast of thousands. If we yearn for more stage, we’ll likely be frustrated. 

Passing it on is about more than stuff, however. When we are no longer pursuing our own name and fame, we become free to focus on others. It’s time to finally get over ourselves. Midlife is a time to transition from making it all about our accomplishments to making it about others. A time to pour into the people around us and celebrate their success. A time to share the wisdom of our first half by mentoring those younger in our second half.

Working at the Margins
Part of the adventure of living for God and not yourself is that you never know what will leave a lasting mark. But God being who he is, it probably will be something unexpected. It’s often the little things done by the littler people that leave lasting marks.

David Zac Niringiye is an Anglican bishop in Uganda. He said,

One of the gravest threats to the North American church is the deception of power—the deception of being at the center. Those at the center tend to think, “The future belongs to us. We are the shapers of tomorrow. . . . We have a track record of success.” . . . God very often is working most powerfully far from the center. Jesus is crucified outside of Jerusalem—outside—with the very cynical sign over his head, “The King of the Jews.” Surprise—he is the King of the Jews. . . . Who are Jesus’ brothers? The weak, the hungry, the immigrant workers, the economic outcasts. . . . Who is mostly in the company of Jesus? Not bishops and pastors! The bishops and pastors are the ones who suggest he’s a lunatic! Who enjoys his company? The ordinary folk, so ordinary that their characterization is simply this: “sinners.”

We serve a God who does his best work at the margins. So if you find yourself working there, slogging it out through midlife, faithfully keeping covenant but subconsciously wondering if it really matters—it matters!

It’s Never Too Late To Turn Around
Human beings are role players in an epic drama. God directs, Jesus stars and we stand as townspeople in a cast of thousands. If we yearn for more stage, we’ll likely be frustrated. We’ll feel insignificant and trudge through our scenes with an uninspired performance. But God has made—and will make—everything beautiful in its time (Ecc. 3:11), including our fleeting lives and brief lines. A subplot in Jesus’ climactic scene guarantees it.

One of the criminals crucified with Christ was a revolutionary against Rome. (Talk about futile work.) In many ways he typifies a wasted life, a nameless man engaged in senseless violence. But during his brief moment on stage, he said a line that goes down as one of the greatest in history: “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42).

Boom. Immortal. One moment of clarity in a life of futility, and everything changes.

We sometimes note how a legacy and reputation, carefully built over many years, can be destroyed in a moment. We in midlife do very well to remember it. But do we ever consider how a legacy and reputation can be established in a moment? That’s a rare occurrence, to be sure. But it can happen. The anonymous thief on the cross proves it. His magnum opus, his great work, was asking to be remembered right in the moment when Rome was obliterating him. And so he became exhibit A that it’s never too late to turn it around. He’s the patron saint of deathbed conversions. Has anyone ever used his dying breath more wisely?

And if his life counts only because of one meaningful moment, surely yours will count for many more. Believe it. Serve God’s purposes in your generation, and don’t stop now just because it’s grown a little humdrum or difficult. Live. Serve. Die. Decay.

Then rise forevermore.

Taken from 40/40 Vision by Peter Greer and Greg Lafferty. Copyright (c) 2015 by Peter Greer and Greg Lafferty. Used by permission of InterVarsity Press, P.O. Box 1400, Downers Grove, IL 60515, USA. www.ivpress.com.