When We Can’t Wait – Sunday, June 10, 1984
The present has an endless feel about it. When it is summer, the sun seems like our natural inheritance, and we can hardly believe that a few months ago we were battling snow. When our children are smaller, running helter skelter through the house until we long for quiet, we can hardly believe that one day that quiet will be ours. Remember when you thought you’d always be a child in your parents’ home? Remember when you thought you’d always be in school?
When today is upon us, it seems like the only reality. But we do have ways of marking off time, the todays disappearing into memory. One season becomes another, and our face suddenly looks older in the mirror. We become the middle and then the older generation at the family reunion. Our parents slip away from us one day, and one of life’s anchors is gone.
Though life seems long in the short run, it is but a moment. It flutters past us like a moth, dancing in the light for a second, then darting off into the night. Yet, we should not sorrow, but let its brevity make us wise. If time is short, it is precious. If life is fragile, it is to be carefully handled. And in a world where we are taught the importance of patience, we have to understand that there are some things for which we cannot wait.
We cannot wait to hug a child. He’ll grow out of the need for hugs while we’re busy doing something else.
We cannot wait to treat our parents well. Someday, they’ll be beyond our touch, our kind efforts too late.
We cannot wait to mend an argument. What if our harsh words were our last ones?
We cannot wait to give help to a friend. When someone needs help is when they need it—not some other time when it’s more convenient.
We cannot wait to shed our weakness. Tomorrow it will be a habit and the next day part of character.
We cannot wait to find joy, thinking it will fall upon us when circumstances change. Joy is an attitude, not a future event. Those who wait for it will find they’ve missed it all.
Our days are like “clouds adrift in the summer sky.”1 We know their grace one small hour, and then they are gone beyond our reach or comprehension. Let us live them well while they are still upon us.
1 “Clouds,” Author unknown, published by G. Schirmer.
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June 10, 1984
Broadcast Number 2,860