Final First Day of Summer

There are many people who are not with us to experience this first day of summer. I keep wondering if I knew this was my last summer, would I treat it differently. Would I complain about the heat or appreciate a day of warmth that followed a cloudy May? If this is my final first day of summer, would I someday miss the same experience that I’m complaining about today?

These questions stick with me because they push aside the mental muck and reignite a passion to seize the day with purpose and gratefulness. My days are limited…numbered. I’m learning to value each day because of how scarce they are in my life time. If I had an infinite amount of days then I could afford to squander some. My prayer has become,“Show me, Lord, my life’s end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is.” -Psalm 39:4

I want to be intentional in how I spend the days of my life. I want to spend my days with a Godly purpose, with enduring hope, and unquenching love. I want to feel the heat of the sun, the joy of reaching goals and the disappointment of broken plans. I’m alive and I want to fully embrace all that the Lord has for me today. 

Maybe this isn’t my final summer but I’m certain that there will be a final summer for me someday. This is true for all of us. Death’s reality demands that we fully live today, for tomorrow isn’t promised. Anything worth doing tomorrow is worth doing today.  

He was going to be all that a mortal should be 


No one should be kinder or braver than he


A friend who was troubled and weary he knew,

Who’d be glad of a lift and who needed it, too;

On him he would call and see what he could do


Each morning he stacked up the letters he’d write


And thought of the folks he would fill with delight


It was too bad, indeed, he was busy today,

And hadn’t a minute to stop on his way;

More time he would have to give others, he’d say

The greatest of workers this man would have been


The world would have known him, had he ever seen


But the fact is he died and he faded from view,

And all that he left here when living was through

Was a mountain of things he intended to do


Tomorrow by Edgar Guest

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