If we think about the shortness of life, would we take a moment or a day for granted? Would the dawn of the morning find us grateful and glad to be alive? Could we live each day to the fullest, giving something to a world that has given of its bounty to us?
Taken when I was thirty years old.
Like the artist with a blank canvas, each day is as painting vibrant strokes to the pages of our lives and finishing with something to be proud of.
Did I realize my youth would flee as quickly as the seasons change? Did I think life would be better when I entered my teen years or turned twenty-one? Like others, why was I ever anxious for Friday? What was wrong with the other days?
When I was fifteen, in an up close and personal moment, I told my aunt on a Monday or Tuesday, “I can’t wait for Friday.”
“Why do you want to wish your life away?” she asked.
I did not think of it that way until she pointed it out.
I reflect fondly on the times my brothers and I romped through the uninhabited fields and hills behind our home, laughing and enjoying the best of times.
Now we are many miles apart, and seldom get to see one another. Would I have savored the time, knowing one day it would come to an end? Ah-to have one day to spend once more with my brothers.
I do not wish to turn back time, but I give thanks for all the sweet memories collected over a lifetime. This picture was taken with my youngest daughter in 1981.
As I ponder the gift of time and the purpose of life, how can I esteem one day more important than the next? Can I take for granted that my husband will arrive home safely after work like he always does? Can I assume I will live forever, and tomorrow till never come?
Yesterday is gone, but for the memories of the heart and tomorrow is promised to no one, so, I will live today and...
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