It’s been awhile since I braved the crowds and participated in the shopping frenzy known as “Black Friday” looking for a great bargain or the perfect present.
In years past, my mother, my daughter and I would wake up before the sun, slip out into the cold morning, hit two or three stores for a special gift and then head to a breakfast buffet to recuperate.
I can’t remember a single purchase, but I remember the laughter and conversation and comraderie.
Losing a child puts lots of things in perspective.
Like memories and time.
Time is the only thing in life that moves in one direction. From birth to death in a straight line.
This season has most of us rushing from one place to another, squeezing in another activity, seeking just the right something to put under the Christmas tree. We start the day after Thanksgiving and hurry into December, and suddenly the month is gone, the days have fled.
Ask any parent who has buried a child what they want most in the world and they will not hesitate–another heartbeat, another second, another opportunity to say, “I love you” or “I’m proud of you” or “Thank you”.
All the world’s wealth won’t buy even one extra minute–the ticking clock is no respecter of persons.
I cannot buy time, I can only spend it.
We all trade this life for something–a unique transaction–no refunds, no exchanges.
It’s up to me to choose…what am I going to trade it for?
My life for love?
If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.
If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.
Love never dies. I Corinthians 13:1-2, 8 MSG