What one good thing do you want to do with the rest of your life?
It’s a question I’ve been chewing on for the better part of this year. Knowing that my earthly existence is measured by human standards and knowing that at any moment that particular calendar might draw to a close, it’s a good question to ask. In not asking it, life can float aimlessly along, chipping away at time with precious little to hold in exchange. Not that I need a lot to hold, but I need something … at least one thing.
One good thing … to do, to give myself to.
And so this afternoon while out for a long walk in the feels-more-like-April-than-December temperatures, while watching the bluebird stepping his dance amongst barren branches, I had a thought … a rather simple one but one that just might help me walk out my remaining calendar days.
Take good care of the moment, Elaine.
What moment?
This one. Not the next one, not tomorrow’s, but this one … right in front of me.
Not randomly, but with goodness.
You see, I can handle my moments. We all can. Give us a moment, and we’ll fill it with something, take care of it somehow, someway, with some sort of somewhat. Whether well thought out or haphazardly, we take care of our moments. But in doing so, we must consider the quality therein.
Is our care of the moment any good? Does it serve any good purpose?
Jesus lived good moments. He should be our guide along these lines. While he always had the end game in mind – his calendared days – he is known for the moments lived in between the stable and the grave. Wherever he walked, as he grew and as he taught, he took good care of the earthly moments he’d been given. Whether in conversation with his people or in conversation with his Father, Christ’s moments were never accidentally lived nor haphazardly shared. They were simply and profoundly lived and fueled by the winds of goodness.
Like my friend the bluebird this afternoon, Jesus danced within and amongst the barren branches of humanity. His color was brilliant positioned against the backdrop of winter. He was set apart, not camouflaged by the clamor of his surroundings. Instead, Jesus lived branch to branch, moment to moment, watchful of his surroundings, and willing to share the road with others.
As I step into this next moment (and, yes, into a new year), I don’t want to simply take care of my moments anymore. Doing so relies too heavily on fleshly impulses. Instead I want to take good care of each one – being firmly rooted in God’s goodness, mindful of his momentum, and quick to follow his lead.
The rest of my earthly life is too much, too big for my hands (and heart) to hold these days. I pray I live it well. But this moment, this single slip of time that is right in front of me? Mine … yours? Well, certainly we can take good care of it. With God’s help, good moments are the rule rather than the exception.
Live your moments like you mean them, friends. Take good care of them, and take good care of your hearts. Dance amongst the barren branches of winter as often as you dare, allowing your Father to take the lead. Live and move and have your being in Christ.
This is the very best we can do. This is the good way to finish your life.
Peace for the journey,
