Disposable Days

I’m on the phone with my friend David. When we were roommates in college, I used to see him every day. Now we mostly keep in touch over the phone. But the great thing about David is that he can make me laugh, even when he’s five hours away.

“Do you remember when we built that miniature snowman in Derek’s dorm room?” David asks.

“Yes!” I say. “And by the time Derek got back, it had melted. All that was left was a baby carrot and a wet spot.”

“We never explained it to him. He had no clue.” David says.

We laugh.

“Remember when you dumped a whole tube of glitter onto my bed sheets? I ask.

“You couldn’t wash it out. That glitter stuck around for weeks.” David says.

“Every time I thought it was finally gone, I’d wake up with glitter stuck all over my face,” I say

The memories make me smile.

“I miss those times,” I say. “Back when we had more freedom and fewer obligations. I miss having disposable days.”

David pauses on the other end of the line.

“We had a lot of fun,” he says. “But maybe it’s a good thing that our days aren’t disposable anymore. It gives us an incentive to make the most of them. We have to be intentional about how we use our time.”

I think about what David said. He’s right. When my time seems endless, it’s easy for me to slip into complacency. It’s easy for me to procrastinate. But when my time is limited, I treat it like a valuable commodity.

Every day that God has given me is a gift. It’s a day I can use to pour into others. A day I can use to grow closer to God. A day I can use to help build His kingdom.

Or it’s a day that can slip through my hands. I don’t want that to be the case.

“When did you get so wise?” I ask David. “Weren’t you the kid who dumped glitter all over my bedsheets?”

David chuckles. “Yeah. I’m just trying to use my time more constructively these days.”