First times are, for a brief moment, glorious. First times are the essence of adventure. No matter what you do or experience, given enough repetitions, it can become routine and stale. But, when it’s brand new, the moment can sometimes be overwhelming–in a good way, of course. Of course, the experience of newness, and the memory of whatever experience it was that was new, can be very fleeting.
I can barely remember the first time I experienced or participated in anything new, except to vaguely recall that it WAS new. And exciting because of its newness. But of the specific event, I can remember very little. First day of school, first haircut, first kiss, first day on my first real job—all of them happened to me, but I can remember very little about any of them. Those moments that seemed so immense in their immediacy fade away over time until we are left with only the echo, the lingering scent, the dissipating vapor of what we knew, in the moment, was something special, something special.
Last times, though; last times always seem to catch us by surprise, don’t they. In the moment, we seldom realize that THIS time will be the final time—last hair cut, last kiss, last I love you, last birthday cake, last time seeing that movie. It’s usually only after it’s over that we realize (if we ever do) that some moment will be the last time we will ever know that particular experience.
A cousin (by marriage) of mine has just lost her mother to humanity’s common enemy. The passing wasn’t a surprise as she was elderly had been ill for a while. Because of this, my cousin was able to be very intentional about spending as much time as she could with her mother, holding her hand and praying with her and just interacting in any way she could. One of the images from this period in their relationship will endure for the rest of my life, I’m sure. My cousin is stretched out on the bed where her mother is sleeping, unaware for the most part that her daughter is present with her. My cousin’s arm is stretched across her mother and she is simply lying there with her mom—present, making the most of the time remaining, because she understood that this time might be the last time.
What if we, like my cousin, had known any of our “last times” was approaching? Would we have lived those times differently? Better? More intensely? We have all heard the Latin admonition to “carpe diem”—but what if it’s not enough to seize the day? Maybe days are not granular enough, not fine enough, to realize the essence of living. Maybe we’d do better to try our best to seize the time in whatever measure we can—hours, minutes, seconds, to live fully in this now, and then the next now, and then the next.
American poet and author, Stephen Levine, who was known for his musings on death and dying, asks this rather pointed question, which emphasizes the value of the moment, especially in relationships:
“If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?”
Paul, in Ephesians 5, puts it this way: “Awake, sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you. Therefore, be careful how you walk, not as unwise men but as wise, making the most of your time, because the days are evil” (vs. 14-16). In the next few verses, he elaborates on the difference between just drifting through life experiencing the emptiness of earthly pleasure (symbolized by drunkenness) and experiencing life while filled with God’s spirit.
We were given today, this moment; what shall we do with it? We were given these relationships we value so much but also take for granted so easily. Let’s try naming and claiming our moments for what they are, gifts from God. Let’s recognize that we aren’t promised another moment, and let’s live this one completely and fully, wringing every last blessing out of it that we can. That’s what I’m going to do.
Starting now.
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