 Stephen King once said that the difference between JK Rowling and Stephanie Meyers is that in 100 years we will only remember one of them. While I chuckle at intent to agree with this sentiment, I wonder how it makes Ms. Meyers feel. Does she see her infamy coming? Has she resigned her aspirations for literary immortality? Is she okay with the fact that she and her work will someday be forgotten? This is the sentiment echoed in Psalm 39. What is the measure of my days? Make me know my end. Let me know how fleeting I am. And so we tweet, we write, we record a podcast, we post a picture or a video on Instagram knowing it will barely be remembered long enough to be forgotten. Or perhaps we don't do it to be remembered but simply to remind ourselves that we are alive regardless of how fleeting our life may be.