Like most of my conversations nowadays, the one I had with my father yesterday led to the topic of time.
I in my purple sweater pulled out the chair at the tiny hardwood table to sit with my parents. We were at a breakfast spot right on the beach that they frequent. My father clutched a robins egg blue mug full of coffee.
We talked about lots of things that morning. Dreams both of wakefulness and sleep, houses, people, human nature, God. And pancakes. There was quite a to-do about pancakes.
About halfway through our breakfast he spoke of time. It’s funny how time is always being spent, and there’s nothing you can to do to stop it. And when you waste time, you can’t get it back. It’s always gone. But that’s not what we talked about.
My father brought up the fact that in five years, maybe, I’ll be gone. No longer living alongside my parents. Probably married. As I type this with furious fingers, I am nineteen years, four months and twenty eight days old. I have lived over 9,986,400 minutes. And counting.
I know time goes fast and we have no power over it. I won’t lie, it deeply saddens me to think that someday I’ll leave the people I've always lived with to start a life with a man I don’t currently know. And that’s the way life is, and the way God intended it to be (check out Genesis 2:24). If no one ever left their parents, then no one would have parents!!
I guess what I’m trying to say is this: really live. Feel every moment. Even though we can’t lasso this thing called life and make it do what we say, we can choose to accept what we've been given and live like we’re really blessed. Because we are.