The tears of time, saving time, wasted time, enough time spent in quiet with the Lord.  Waiting for direction, answers, patient fulfillment of His will for your time in this life.  Is there a should, ought, could, shall, injecting my own volition and will into the mix, determining those things worthy of my time?  How then is time spent, for it is the only treasure of any value?  My actions, my choices, the places I go and the words I’ve said to strangers all add or subtract from my account.  If I have one day left how priceless the moments?  What makes life precious, but its breviloquence?

Who measures your failure, your success, the adequacy and impact of your legacy?  Is it in the memories of those touched by your wake?  Isn’t the length of that memory from which history is determined?  For all those forgotten in short order was life an utter loss?  Is this life in its limitation capable of defining those things eternal for which even imagination lacks?  Aren’t those impacts of a life well or ill lived dependent fully upon external perspective, having eyes to view each life in its entirety, reviewing every impact, each ripple felt in the ocean of time?

If I had written my story then I would hold the burden, the authority of measuring its worth.  It would be up to no one but me to craft my character for maximum impact upon each reader in hope of capturing more witnesses.  Isn’t that the purpose of our composer?  A song, written for specific effect, cleverly crafted for length, rhythm and harmony.  What if, my song, my voice, my heart were meant only to remind and direct your attention to the composer?  What if each precious moment was specifically constructed, planned and given to provide reflection, direction and witness to His Glory?  What if I will never know how much it meant until it is entirely exhausted and I receive His review of its efficacy?  What if?