Monday, I will celebrate my 45th birthday. Well, celebrate in a purely theoretical manner since I will be hard at work sending our Christmas edition to the press. However, I’m going to celebrate God’s blessing of another year in my life, another day, another memory, another moment with those I love.
When I lost my parents in 2018, I came to the harsh realization that time is life’s most precious commodity. Once a moment has passed, it will never return.
I would have given anything in the world for just one more day with them, and honestly, I still would. However, I also look back at all the time before they died and chastise myself for not spending it more wisely – another weekend trip to visit them, a phone call I should have made, questions I should have asked. And even after two years, I still beat myself up for lost time, promising that I will not let a moment of living pass me by.
And like everyone else, I am caught up in everyday life and all its little hassles. I am constantly running through life with my hair on fire, ensuring myself there will be time later to actually live. Sound familiar? I doubt I’m alone in this.
Writer Cheryl Richardson said, “Time is a gift that most of us take for granted. We get so caught up in the busyness of our daily lives that we rarely stop and take a serious look at how we're spending this gift.”
Although my time gets swept away with the daily grind, I am aware of what I am losing, and I am still thriving to do better, live better, and really suck the marrow out of life. Although, I feel like the grind is winning this war.
Rose Kennedy, the mother of President John F. Kennedy, said, “Life isn’t a matter of milestones, but of moments.”
I don’t think I am meant to run a marathon or climb a mountain or swim the English Channel – I will leave those things for far more adventurous, and athletic, people to conquer. I don’t believe life is one big bucket list with pins on a map of places to visit or hobbies to master or fears to conquer.
I think my time is best spent with the people I love the most.
For nearly 13 years – more than one-fourth of my life – my husband, Keith, and I have been a couple, dating for five years and married for eight. I can remember our first date with the brilliant clarity of yesterday, and I remember thinking to myself at the end of the evening that he would be the one I would marry. I can’t say it was love at first sight, but I knew I would love him, sooner than later.
With Keith, I can just be still. I don’t have to entertain him or charm him. We find contentment just sitting on the porch swing in the evening or visiting a favorite restaurant or watching a movie together at home. These are the times I cherish most with my husband, although we have had our share of adventures.
My sweet baby boy, Dean, is now six-years-old. He is no longer a baby or a toddler, but a boy – one who can read, add and subtract numbers, astutely operate technology, make his own breakfast, and write his own letter to Santa.
When he was an infant, I remember telling my husband that I couldn’t wait until I could have a conversation with my son, and now, I not only can have a conversation with him, but we can argue and debate and interrogate each other about test scores and reasons why he can’t put chap stick on the dog. (It is so hard to discipline someone for being just like me, but he will never get away with anything.)
Keith and I laugh that Dean has grown up thinking he deserves a standing ovation for every accomplishment, no matter how small. I think it has to do with being an only child, something I wouldn’t know anything about.
But you know what? Those little accomplishments make my heart nearly burst with pride, and I let him know daily just how proud I am to be his momma.
My sisters and I are now “middle aged” – shutter – even though that term isn’t politically correct anymore. But when we are together, we are just those Sexton girls sitting around a table laughing and hollering over each other to be heard. We each have our own families, careers, and responsibilities, but when you put us together, it is as if time stood still – somewhere in the late 80s when we were still young and cute and sporting large, stiff hair.
My sisters are the greatest gift my parents ever gave me, and I can’t imagine going through life without them. We have always close – so close that many people in our hometown refer to us as one unit, “The Sisters.” When my parents died, we got even closer as we dealt with the cruel reality of a world without them.
Do we fight? Absolutely. Do we act like complete idiots? Nearly every day. Would I want to experience life without them? Not a chance.
So as I celebrate another birthday, I am reminded again about time – passing time, lost time, limited time. And I am more determined than ever to grab it with both hands and cherish every passing second I have with those I love.
My dear friend, Becky Dees, reminds me often to celebrate every day, not just on those milestone days. Every day is a milestone because it is a gift from God.
