I used to believe there were a lot of things I couldn't live without.
But I would've told you otherwise.
Recently the knowledge broke on me that I was thinking this way. Before I'd always tried to be a practical thinker. The only things I couldn't live without were God, food, water, and the like. But the last few days the pictures have crept in. All the things I wanted to hold on to. And perhaps the most troubling problem was that it wasn't really things I wanted. It was moments. Days.
I want to sit in the coffee shop near college with my friends. I want to plug in my headphones, listen to my music, and inefficiently write papers while I'm really talking to those around me.
I want to be in a friend's car and watch the leaves just starting to glow spring-green on trees as several of my friends ride down to a hiking spot.
I want to walk down the little wooden steps on a favorite trail and come to the bottom at an abandoned mine site. I want to stand staring into a crumbled building whose only floor is grass and wonder what it used to be.
I want all of it back.
And I can't have any of it. This obvious truth hit me hard, but it was freeing. I can't have a single moment back. I can go to the coffee shop again. Same friends, same music. Not the same moment.
I can hike to the mine again. Walk past the old buildings. But I can't go back in time.
It's the truth for all of us. Just a second ago when you read that last paragraph, you blinked away that moment and it's gone. The only thing left to us is now.
I feel so freed.
I don't have to try to hold on to or recapture something that's past, because it's impossible. I can be thankful, so thankful for the good times. I can look forward to more. I can praise God for how He's used me for His service, and I can try every day to get closer to Him.
But I can be content in what I have--today--without pointlessly chasing after what's gone.