Introduction

If you’ve ever closed a well-worn journal, you know the gentle weight of a last line. Ink fades, pages wrinkle, and somewhere in the hush after the final sentence, a story settles. There’s a tender finality in that moment—like the soft sigh after “amen.” That’s how Psalm 72 ends: not with a trumpet, but with a tender tremble, a signature of sorts. “The prayers of David, the son of Jesse, are ended.” It reads like the closing of a prayerbook, a life’s record in ink and tears, victories and stumbles. Can’t you almost hear the shepherd-king setting down his pen, whispering one more thank you, one more please, one more praise?

We live in a world that applauds beginnings. New projects, fresh starts, crowded calendars. But endings shape us too. The way you close a season, the way you shut the door on a day—these moments matter. They are summary statements of the soul. The last words we say to our kids before they sleep, the final text we send before the light goes out, the prayer we breathe on a quiet morning before our feet hit the floor—these are the small hinges that swing the big doors of a lifetime.

So let me ask you gently: If your prayers were bound into a book, what would the last page say today? What themes would appear again and again? Worry? Worship? Self? Savior? Calendars fill and phones buzz, but the heart longs for a better metric than mere motion. Francis Chan put it plainly: “Our greatest fear should not be of failure but of succeeding at things in life that don’t really matter.” That short sentence has a way of slipping into the soul and clearing the clutter, doesn’t it? It beckons us to ask the wiser questions: Am I counting my days with sober wisdom? Am I investing the present for God’s purposes? And, by grace, am I on my way to end well—with a legacy not of noise, but of prayer?

David’s last word in Psalm 72:20 is not a resignation; it’s a release. It’s the closing of a chapter and the confidence that the Author who carried him from pasture to palace will carry the story forward. God was faithful in David’s midnight moments and morning triumphs. God was faithful when the giants mocked and when the king stumbled. And God is faithful now—in your unknowns and your undertakings, in your losses and your longings.

Maybe your life feels like scrambled sentences right now—punctuated by disappointments, packed with responsibilities you didn’t plan to carry. Friend, there is a King above your chaos. When our days seem scattered, His mercy is not. When our strength is thin, His sufficiency is not. When our prayers falter, His purpose does not. The God who taught David to sing will teach you to stand. The God who heard David’s cries will hear yours as well.

Let’s gather our hearts around the verse that closes one singer’s songbook and opens the door for ours.

Scripture Reading Psalm 72:20 (ESV) “The prayers of David, the son of Jesse, are ended.”

What a sentence. Not “finished forever,” but “finished for now.” Not the end of grace, but the end of a page. The same God who welcomed David’s last amen is ready to welcome your next one. He leans in when you whisper, He listens when you weep, He delights when you trust. And as we begin today, we’re going to ask Him to teach us how to number our days with sober wisdom, to invest our present for His purposes, and to help us end well—with a legacy of prayer that outlives us and outloves us, spilling into the lives of those we touch.

Before we move forward, let’s bow our heads and open our hearts.

Opening Prayer Father, we come to You in the name of Jesus, grateful that You are near to the broken, patient with the busy, and kind to the forgetful. Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom. Clear the fog from our minds and the noise from our souls. Set our priorities to the pitch of Your praise. Where we’ve spent ourselves on what does not last, redirect us. Where we’ve carried burdens we are not meant to bear, relieve us. Where we’ve wandered from prayer, recall us.

Holy Spirit, breathe life into the words of Scripture, and bend our wills toward Yours. Show us how to invest today for what will matter ten thousand years from now. Give us courage to say yes to Your calling and no to distractions. Plant in us a steady faith, a tender heart, and a persistent prayer life that will bless our homes, strengthen our church, and honor Christ.

Lord Jesus, let Your beauty rest upon us. Let Your mercy mend us. Let Your wisdom guide us. And may the legacy we leave be the echo of our prayers, the evidence of Your grace, and the fragrance of Your love. We ask this for our good and Your glory. Amen.

Number Our Days with Sober Wisdom

Time is a gift, but it is not endless. We wake, we work, we rest, and the days keep moving. Wisdom learns to see each day as weighty. Wisdom treats time like a trust.

Scripture gives us a prayer for this. “Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12, ESV). That line does not flatter us. It tells us we need help. It shows that wisdom with time is learned, not assumed.

“Teach us.” That is the first step. We ask to be taught because we forget. We act like time will always be there, and it will not. We pack our hours with tasks, and the soul grows thin. So we ask God to train our eyes.

He teaches by showing us the scale of life. He formed the mountains. He speaks and years pass. He stays the same. We change. When we see that, our hurry slows. We stop pretending we can hold everything. We learn to sit under His instruction.

He teaches through Scripture. The Psalms sing about days and nights, mornings and evenings. Proverbs speaks of sloth and zeal, of planning and trust. Jesus speaks of the lilies and the birds. We learn by listening and obeying. We learn by taking each command and putting it into a day.

He teaches through limits. Bodies need sleep. Minds need quiet. Relationships need care. Work needs focus. Limits are not enemies. They are guides. They press us to choose what is best in front of us.

“To number our days.” That is more than counting. It is weighing. It is assigning worth. It is learning to see a day as the frame for faithfulness. If we number days, we treat today as a real chance to honor God.

Numbering days changes how we plan. We stop pushing all the important things into “later.” We make room for Scripture, prayer, and people. We set times that match our values, not only our urges. We put first things first in the calendar and in the budget.

Numbering days changes how we speak. We pick words that build. We choose honesty and grace. We turn off the venting that drains us and others. We ask, “What words will I be glad I said when this day is over?”

Numbering days changes how we work. We offer our tasks to God at the start. We seek excellence without chasing applause. We finish what we can and release what we cannot. We give thanks for progress and learn from mistakes.

Numbering days changes how we rest. We stop when the day ends. We practice Sabbath as a sign of trust. We remember that God keeps watch while we sleep. Rest becomes worship, not escape.

“That we may get a heart of wisdom.” Wisdom is not only in the head. Wisdom settles in the heart. It shapes loves, fears, hopes, and choices. A heart like that takes time to grow. God gives it as we keep asking and obeying.

A wise heart pays attention to patterns. It notices what drains and what strengthens. It notices which habits keep the soul close to God. It notices early when pride swells or envy rises. Then it turns back quickly.

A wise heart keeps short accounts. It confesses sin the day it happens. It forgives before anger hardens. It speaks thanks before grumbling becomes normal. This is how a day becomes clean by night.

A wise heart looks beyond the clock. It asks how today fits with forever. It holds plans with an open hand. It learns to expect God’s help in small tasks. It learns to expect God’s timing in slow answers.

A wise heart stays tender. It is not numb to pain. It does not shrug at beauty. It sees God’s hand in simple gifts. It sees needs around it and responds with mercy.

“Teach us… to number… that we may get.” The grammar shows a path. Asking leads to counting. Counting shapes the heart. This is daily work with daily grace.

This prayer sits within a larger psalm. Moses speaks about the span of life and the greatness of God. He tells the truth about sorrow and toil. He asks for mercy in the morning and favor at the end. Verse 12 is not an idea in the air. It is a request inside real life.

So we ask for the same mercy. We ask God to make our mornings clear. We ask Him to satisfy us with His love early in the day. When love fills the morning, wisdom guides the hours. When wisdom guides the hours, peace marks the night.

We also pray for our work. At the end of Psalm 90, we ask God to establish the work of our hands. That prayer ties to numbering days. If we treat today as weighty, we will offer today’s work to God. He gives weight to what would be light. He steadies what would be shaky.

This changes how we begin tasks. We start with prayer, even a short one. “Lord, take this. Use this.” That simple habit aligns the day with His will. It trains the heart to seek His strength, not only our own.

It changes how we handle interruptions. When people need us, we remember people are part of the work. When plans shift, we look for the good we can still do. We ask for patience. We ask for wisdom for the next right step.

It changes how we measure the day. We stop measuring only by output. We start asking if we were faithful, honest, and kind. We ask if we listened to God’s Word and did what it said. We ask if we loved the person in front of us.

It changes how we look at the future. We still plan. We still prepare. But we stop trying to control. We learn to plan with prayer. We invite counsel. We accept that God may lead another way.

Numbering days also shapes our prayers. Short prayers through the day add up. A quick thanks here. A quiet plea there. A breath of praise in the car. A soft confession at the sink. These make a day steady and Godward.

This practice guards us from drifting. When we count days, we notice when days slip away. We notice when screens take hours. We notice when noise fills every gap. Then we choose better. We set limits that help us seek God.

This practice lifts our eyes to needs around us. We ask, “Who needs a call today?” “Who needs a meal?” “Who needs a word of courage?” Time becomes a way to love. Love uses time well.

This practice keeps us awake to joy. We linger over good moments. We give thanks for small things. We mark answered prayers. We tell the story to our kids and friends. Gratitude trains the heart to see God’s care.

This practice steadies us in hard days. When grief presses, we still count today. We take the next step. We pray the next prayer. We trust that God holds us and will carry us to tomorrow.

We can start small. Name the hours. Set simple anchors. Word before phone. Prayer before tasks. A walk without earbuds. A meal at the table. A quiet review at night. Small anchors keep the heart aligned.

We can write it down. A line a day in a notebook. A verse to carry. A person to serve. A burden to release. A thanks to record. Writing helps us remember that days are gifts.

We can ask others to help. A friend can ask how we used our time. A spouse can share what matters most this week. A group can pray for wise use of days. Shared goals make wise habits stick.

We can trust God for what we cannot do. Some days spill over. Some seasons are heavy. We offer what we have. We rest in His care. He is patient with learners.

“Teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” Keep that prayer close. Say it in the morning. Say it at noon. Say it at night. God hears. God answers. He shapes hearts day by day.

Invest the Present for God’s Purposes

“The prayers of David, the son of Jesse, are ended ... View this full PRO sermon free with PRO