One of my friends from church noted that he got a nice laugh from reading the column last week.

Thinking that I had finally written something worthy of entertainment for the masses, I was only slightly disappointed when I found out that the object of his good humor was my photograph.

He pointed out that I hadn't changed my photo in some time, with the thought that the one I am using might have something to do with my age. "I figured you were keeping that picture so you'll always look young," he jested. "My wife and I get a good laugh out of that every once in a while."

He pointed out that it looks like I have more hair in the picture. "It's one of them glamour shots," I told him, since I didn't quite know what else to say at that moment. I really hadn't thought about the possibility that I might actually be looking older. Eeek! Older. The very sound of the word reeks of lap blankets and wrinkle cream.

The photo is one of those things that I hadn't spent much time pondering on. There's been a photo of me there ever since I started using photos for columns, back when Kay Smith and Uncle Dave Sturgill regularly graced our pages with their thought-provoking commentary. In doing my research, the photo I'm using now was taken sometime around the year 2000, which amounts to about seven years ago. In case you don't remember, that was the year that all the computers were supposed to crash because they had been programmed with a two-digit year code. It was the millennium and computerized life as we knew it was going to end. I'm not sure, but I don't think we even had wireless networks, iPods, iPhones, Blackberries and fast food Internet service. This new ‘digital life' is just getting started. As for seven years, that's not very long unless you sold yourself into slavery or something. Why, seven years goes by like a snap when you stay busy most of the time.

I originally had the column picture taken at the same time that I had a passport photo made. I don't usually go in to get my photo made without an ulterior motive. In fact, there are several lengthy stretches of life where I don't really have any photographs at all to look back on. But that's really not all that important. Apparently, I don't look like that any more any way.

So why did I even give it a second thought? It has something to do with self-realization. The guy that I watch brush his teeth in the mirror doesn't look any older to me. We've shared a bathroom for years and his face doesn't hold any surprises.

But time always is slipping away, whether we like it or not and I don't really know what I did with it all.

Come to think of it, why is it that I would tend to look back and wonder where the time went? Shouldn't I instead think about where the remainder of my time is going to go before it's gone? Or maybe I should instead focus all my energy on what's going on right now, rather than dwelling in the ‘golden' past or the ‘limitless' future?

So, in light of the recent humorous criticism by one of my favorite deacons, I might consider updating my photo at some point in the near future. Then again, if I really look that much older, should I subject myself and the readers to such punishment? Why, I dare say that there might be parrots and puppies here and there in the county that could suffer adverse effects from seeing my new (older) updated photo beneath them on a weekly basis.

It's just one of those things that I'll have to put on my list of things to ponder when I should be thinking of more worthwhile things.

So is my life passing by or is life is holding still while I'm passing through it? One thing's for sure, we're only given a few years here on earth and I believe it's compared to a ‘vapor' that soon passes away in book of James.. Trying holding on to a handful of steam for a good comparison. First you get burned, then you get steamed. On second thought, I think my point was supposed to be that vapors can't be held and escape easily. I'm not sure what the rest of it means, so I might have to go home and boil up a pot of hot water and soak my feet while I rock in my squeaky chair with my lap quilt.

Or maybe I'll watch cars go by. Old people like to do that, you know. Sometimes it seems life is just a series of paydays and weekends. I can usually remember where the money went and what I did on Saturday.

The rest of the days are recalled only through the aid of my trusty calendar, which is marked with a trail of ink that surely shows my path through life as effectively as footprints in the sand.

I think the Native Americans broke down their time by moon phases, since they didn't have a Timex and a free Ramen calendar from the Bank of Plymouth Rock. I suppose they just had to do the best they could—like the rest of us-as they watched their time pass by, swept up neatly by the seas of change. The best we can do is to spend our time sharing our life's lessons, faith and wisdom with the next generation. But we can still have some fun thinking back as we laugh at old photographs. I wonder if he'll show me some of his.