I do a lot of thinking when I mow the lawn. The constant hum of the engine makes it easier somehow to move through time. People, places and faces race by as I relive the scenes that make up a life. One second, I’m in the fourth grade sitting in the principal’s office, in trouble again. The next, I’m on a train interviewing the president of the United States.
One second, I’m a boy jumping makeshift ramps on my dirt bike. The next, I’m sitting in the green room at Oprah, talking with Bill Cosby.
A couple things occur to me. First, God has given me several interesting lives. And second, each one — both the good and the not-so-good — are temporary. Right now where I am, indeed where you are, is no more than a flash; a blip; an exquisite sunset exhaling in a silent sigh. We acknowledge this truth, but we don’t let it change us. It should.
How many times I have so desperately wanted to stop time in its tracks; my family having dinner overlooking the ocean; an evening around the pool with my parents telling us the stories of their lives; real hugs from my daughters. But time cannot be stopped. Temporary is a thoroughbred jumping from the starting gate. It can’t be contained as it speeds toward its inevitable destiny. And that’s okay. Let it change you. Everything is fleeting as it must be, because God’s got more lives for you and for me.
One day, temporary itself will pass away. And all that is momentarily good becomes enduring. Until then, breathe it in, this temporary life.