Time Part II
There’s something about walking into a church that just feels like home. At least for me it does. Last week, I attended the funeral of a neighbor who was a lifelong presence in my life. Prior to this particular afternoon, I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I was inside a sanctuary. The pandemic has taken away a lot of what was previously routine for many of us. Most notably, getting up and going to work everyday. At this point, two years later, I can’t imagine going back to the daily grind of getting up, getting dressed, and battling traffic and fellow commuters, only to be worn out before even starting work. Pre-Covid, once we got through the work week, Sunday mornings would be reserved for church. To be clear, it definitely wasn’t every Sunday, but it was at least on a somewhat consistent basis. Now, virtual service has become the norm, and even tuning in to that has become a task. Because with two kids, Sunday mornings are as unpredictable as the weather.
Mrs. Best was a retired teacher. She was one of those people who had the authority to straighten me out if my parents weren’t around – a practice that I’m sure is foreign in today’s age. Her daughter and I grew up together. In our little section, there were about four of us who were within 5-6 years of each other in age, so the memories I have of those times long gone are still very vivid in my head. Unfortunately, life has taken us all in different directions and most of us have lost contact. Ironically, it was Mrs. Best who would send me cards from time to time over the holidays. I have one on the counter from her from this past Christmas. She sent me well wishes for the arrival of our daughter.
As is commonplace, funerals always bring people together. Every time it happens, we always say we should do better, and that it’s sad it takes “something like this” to see one another. But we never change. It’s all talk until the next funeral.
I admittedly got choked up a few times during the service. Not because of an overwhelming sadness, although she most certainly will be missed. But the reality hit me that time is one of, if not the most precious thing we have. Looking around the church, I saw so many familiar faces that were dominate figures in my childhood. Many of these people were teachers, administrators, and church leaders – positions that meant something in the black community. And now, here they were, older, slower, greyer. Yet, even in their seasoned stage of life, I immediately went back to the memories I had of them and was blown away at how these years had flown by. I saw my friends who I grew up with. Here we were, getting up in age ourselves, with families and responsibilities of our own. In the blink of an eye, we’d gone from carefree kids to middle-aged adults.
Sometimes, we get subtle reminders of how precious life is. We’re foolish to think we have more time. We have to be sure we're not taking the moments we have with our kids for granted. As a dad, I have a responsibility to make sure my kids live each day to the fullest, and to show them how to do it.
In being an example for them, I have to make time for the people and things that are important to me. To say yes more, and not put off so much. Oftentimes we’re quick to make excuses for why we can’t do something. We say “we’ll get together another time.” That turns into weeks, months, and years.
If we’re fortunate, we’ll get plenty of opportunities to experience things, but it’s no guarantee. We have to life each day to the fullest because one day you’ll catch yourself in a moment with tears in your eyes wondering where the time went.