I remember when my father went through his midlife crisis around the age of 50 (or was it 45?). There's an episode in The Sopranos when Tony had trouble getting out of bed, and even when he got up, he walked around his home all day in his bathrobe. It was uncannily familiar. And my father by all measurements (socio-economic, spiritual, familial) was, and is, a great man.

Before the 11th, I had gone through four paying jobs, and two unpaid ones. My first job was stocking books, working the cash register, and trying to persuade customers to buy "discount cards" for B. Dalton Bookstore. My second job was gathering statistics for immigration patterns in Los Angeles for my college professor as well as grading her students' exams. My third job was teaching English conversation to 50 Korean middle school students while learning to apply traditional methods of discipline to keep order. My fourth job was doing legal research for a non-profit organization called Freedom House which lobbies Congress, publishes studies, and keeps tabs on countries for human rights abuses. My fifth job was doing legal research for the US Department of Justice's Office of Special Investigations which finds, prosecutes, and deports former Nazi war criminals hiding in the United States under falsified visas. My sixth job was doing legal research for the International Justice Mission which intervenes on behalf of third-world children enslaved in brothels or forced into slave labor. And up until 9-11-01, I was a year away from graduating from law school and earning $125,000 as a first year associate.

Since the 11th, I have had difficulty studying, reading, preparing for my future career (whatever that may be now), going to movies, hanging out, and praising. In rare moments do I value my life as a gift from God. For example, I thank God briefly when I go to a local park and watch ducks wading their feet in the water. More often though I have the strong feeling that it would've been better if I was never born.

The book of Ecclesiastes makes more sense to me now than any other book of the Bible; in turn the book of Proverbs makes least sense to me. That may be why I appreciate Indie movies every Friday night on the Bravo channel more so than weekly Bible studies or sermons. The Indie films these days seem to get the book of Ecclesiastes, whereas most Bible teachers and preachers don't. Even in the age of terror. Not even the threat of nuclear attack can awaken them out of cliches into reality.

Here is the conclusion of the matter. Time in life is composed primarily of work and sleep. But what makes life a gift from God are the in between, eternal moments which make up only a slither of our time. Those eternal moments are poignant, bittersweet. They resonate even for strangers of later generations. Jesus is cherished throughout history not for those thirty years He worked but for that one day the King of kings was born in a stable and for those three years He carried His cross and for those six hours He finally died on it on behalf of others.

Looking back, my heart is singularly moved by memories of cradling a blind orphan in China while singing hymns to him daily for six months; of having my hands clasped tenderly by an elderly grandmother at a convalescent home with a doll she treated as her own real baby; of the elderly wheelchair-bound stroke victim pointing to pictures of his prior vigor and pointing to himself to make me recognize him more fully as a person with dignity, with a history; of mentoring an impoverished third grader from a broken home who asked with wide eyed awe, "Is this book about the Lord?"; of being embraced by an abused child whom I'd only met for 20 seconds; of being sent a Christmas card thanking me for being a "part time dad"; of protesting with 30 others in front of the Chinese embassy on behalf of persecuted N. Korean refugees.

The bittersweet, endearing moments, the "Dear Ndugu" moments (see "About Schmidt") are the eternal ones that make life a gift from God. Yes, there are other precious periods in life, more sweet, less bitter moments that can be recalled and cherished. But the poignant ones are the eternal ones that transcend the "guess you had to be there" barrier of other precious times and can affect and move the hearts of even future generations. They are what bring tears to our eyes in reading the life of St. Francis or George Whitefield. Poignant moments are the "Do this in remembrance of Me" ones.