We recently moved to a different house. When we moved in, I unwittingly situated my desk directly beneath an ant burial ground. Some six feet above my desk is a small hole in the ceiling where wood meets. I can’t see the ants that live there, but every day they shove at least forty bodies of deceased comrades out of that hole, and they fall the six feet to my desk. Their body parts and other ant trash are a disgusting mess strewn like a battle field at ceasefire.

I have been unable to coax the little guys out to eat any ant poison, so every morning I awake to see their labors of the night before. The tiny corpses serve as a double lesson to me: 1) Ants are very industrious. 2) Ants are mortal.
Here at my desk “six feet under,” I set my agenda, study Turkish, write Bible lessons, send out emails, make phone calls, and do other work on the computer. Occasionally, a little body drops the six feet and lands with a small clack on one of my pieces of paper. These small sounds are a reminder that time is ticking away. I look up to see if I can glimpse the ants that pushed their fallen comrade over the edge. Nope. They retreat too quickly, perhaps hurrying to find the next fatality.

Those tiny pall bearers preach to me: “Barnabas, be industrious—people are dying. Barnabas, be active—now is the day of salvation.”
How differently would you spend the moments of your days if you were living with the perspective of already being six feet under?

• Twitter