Moses' own psalm opens today: Lord, You have been our dwelling place throughout all generations. A thousand years in Your sight are like a day, and our years fly by like a sigh. So he prays the wisest scheduling request ever made: teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.

Judges begins with a generation forgetting. Numbered days and long memory, hold both as you read.

Judges opens with the slow arithmetic of compromise: did not drive out, again and again, each entry small, the sum catastrophic. Moses' psalm offers the antidote before the disease: number the days, feel their fewness, and spend them on wisdom instead of drift. People who know their days are counted stop coexisting with what is destroying them.

And Psalm 91 keeps the numbering from becoming dread: the counted days are spent in the shadow of the Almighty, under feathers, inside a fortress. Watch and pray, Jesus says, with a heart kept light. Ask God for both gifts today, an honest count, and a settled shelter, and let this day be numbered as His.