Time of My Life

I can't see it.

I can't buy it.

I can't loan it out.

I can only give it, with no promise of it being returned.

My time, it's precious, and after writing those first four sentences sounds a lot like love. (Ouch. The realizations that hit me sting my heart, but are so good for my soul.)

I confess I have good intentions of spending time with those that need encouragement, mentoring young girls, and spending more than 20 minutes praying to my Father or reading about my heavenly bridegroom.

I'm stingy. I come up with excuses at the last minute to leave early, or to not go at all. I claim to be oh so busy, with things of MY life. But how I enjoy being loved with my admirer's time.

Why can't I willingly let the hands on the clock fly from my tight grip?

Loosening my fingers and feeling the flutter of little wings, within a breath, time soars to the clouds. My love goes with it and my heart feels free.

Consciously, generously I give the time of my life.