This morning I took Evan to his preschool as usual. For the walk across the parking lot in 40 degree weather, he chose his favorite light jacket with the hood up. On top of the hood he wore his jaguar hat that hangs down on the sides, thus ensuring the warmth of his head at least. He is often a comical sight, marching to the beat of his own drum for sure.
When we approach Evan's classroom he often likes to try to sneak up on his teacher by "hiding" himself, crouching down close to the wall. He finds it hilarious if we pretend we can't find him. Little kids are cool like that.
Evan is four years old. The same age as the little boy, William Webb, in the next town over who died from cancer yesterday morning. I can hardly imagine the pain and loss his family is dealing with right now, though it makes me cry just thinking of it.
When terrible things happen to children, people often say to hug your own kids extra tight, symbolic, I suppose, of treasuring them. I love hugs, and I love my kids. But to me, the terrible death of a four-year-old is a reminder to make life count.
Make it count. We're all terminal. Any day could be the last for any one of us. Be intentional in how you live and how you love. Take time now to teach your kids the important things you want them to know. Speak life into people's lives, building them up rather than tearing them down. Savor the moments.
Do your best; give your best; live your best. And for all the ways we fall short and fail, there is grace. And there is hope and peace in the Giver of Life, who is Love. We cannot be perfect, but we can make our time count. "Love each other deeply" (1Peter 4:8), for our time here is short.
