So, about June.
Renovations have a way of eating up spare moments – one more wall to paint. Oh, we missed patching that nail hole. What safe place did we store those outlet covers?
And before I knew it, my week or two off from writing became six. Time does seem to fly.
During my post-surgery days – three years ago – my husband read to me, largely to pass the hours. (One with a wired-shut jaw does not make an engaging conversational partner.) Little did we know that a new shared activity would develop.
Our most recent read has been The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. It’s a short novel capturing a few people’s relationship with time. Some want it to rush forward. Others beg the clock to slow. More time. Less time.
It’s given me pause to consider my time. In the book Albom writes, “Before you measure the years, you measure the days.” I recall teaching time management sessions and asking class members, “When you crawl into bed at night, do you feel satisfied, content or do you rehearse the day with regret and frustration? One woman’s response stands out. “Seriously? Crawl into bed? That would be a luxury. I collapse into bed every night exhausted and then wonder what I did all day.”
Another long-ago coaching client repeatedly shared remorse over her use of time in the past. She wore “all those wasted years” like a name tag and spent countless hours ruminating over opportunities missed.
It felt like an unfortunate paradox. She couldn’t seem to grasp that time spent regretting time wasted is actually more time wasted. Hours add up to days which add up to years - more wasted years.
Recently we attended the memorial of a man who spent his life loving God and serving people. The bulletin at his service shared these words:
The time is short, the years are flying,
Like tempest clouds along the sky;
Today we smile, and weep, and labor,
Tomorrow we in silence lie.
The time is short, away with malice,
With sharp rejoinder, keen retort!
Away with harsh and cruel judgments,
With deeds unkind - the time is short.
We have no time for aimless drifting,
For idle dream, for selfish end,
No time for languid, weak endeavor,
Our strength on worthless task to spend.
Then, at our best let each be living,
Full soon will sound life's evening bell.
Be this our aim to find our duty;
Be this our prayer, to do it well.
It is my prayer that the minutes of this day will add up to a life well-lived.
With love and gratitude,
In The Midst