May 2004. That was 10
years ago. That is when I graduated from
high school. Wow, am I getting old, or
what?
Today, I biked to work.
This is the second time I’ve done this in two weeks. The first time was because I “had” to bike because my 1974 Scout II was getting new
suspension. Today, I didn’t have to. Today,
I wanted to ride my bike. Like an 8-year-old riding around town all summer. I
wanted to fly down hills and fight like the dickens to get my little legs to
peddle up them. (Let’s just say my legs aren’t that much longer than those of an
8-year-old.)
I want to make the most of my dash. Not my dash across Broadway to avoid being
one of the pedestrian hit-and-runs that are disgustingly common in the
Denver-metro area, but the dash that goes between 1986 (the year I was born)
and some other year hopefully decades down the road. That dash between birth and death. See, when I graduated from high school one of
my band directors gave me a copy from a book about making the most of your
dash.
In the past 10 years, I’ve remembered that photocopy. I can’t remember the exact words or the
author’s name or the book title—even though I can picture the citation across the top of the first page.[1] I’ve remembered it when I was tired of
studying for college finals. I’ve remembered it when I was pretty sure I’d
never finish my master of divinity thesis. I’ve remembered it as I’ve waited
for interviews and call-backs. I’ve remembered it as I’ve sat at the bedside of
dying parishioners.
I’ve remembered it a lot in the past five weeks (in which I’ve
presided at four memorial/burials). I’ve
learned a lot about other people’s dashes.
Steven’s dash was filled with music and living as an uncle. Loretta’s dash was filled with joy. Lilo’s dash was filled with compassion children. Richard’s dash was filled with support for
his friends. Some of these dashes filled
more time and space than others but each dash made a profound impact on the
world.
In the same time that I was busy learning about these dashes
and burying the people who filled them, I became very aware of my own
dash. I’d neglected for some time (maybe
a few years) to take care of some medical issues. I didn’t want to waste time at the doctor’s
office and I didn’t want people to think I was a sick kid. (FYI: Don’t do that.
That’s not making the most of your dash.)
It turns out though, I was
a sick kid (not too sick though). It
took a couple of weeks, a few tests, and a cheap, low-dose, daily prescription
to make my ticker tick like it should. As I biked today, I realized that I
wasted part of my dash. For the first
time in years I wasn’t dizzy or having palpitations while exercising. How much
more could I have done these past few years if I’d been on this medication
sooner? Would I have hiked longer and higher? Would I have run faster and biked
farther? Would I have had more energy to work youth lock-ins and campouts and
service trips? Probably.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer (if you don’t know him, Google his name, don’t waste your dash not knowing his story) wrote, “Time is the most
valuable thing we have, because it is the most irrevocable. The thought of any
lost time troubles us whenever we look back. Time lost is time in which we have
failed to live a full human life, gain experience, learn, create, enjoy, and
suffer. It is time that has not been filled up, but left empty.”
Today, my dash has new life. It's more full (it wasn't empty before, just not as full as it could have been). Today,
I rode my bike. I saved a gallon of gas. My heart is happier and healthier. I
felt the wind as I rushed downhill and I broke a sweat as I rode uphill again.
In a few hours I’ll plan worship for the coming weeks, I’ll sit at the bedside
of our only charter members. And, I will have worked for myself and for the world. I
will have accomplished something—if only 6 miles. Those 6 will be 12 by the end of the day and
those 12 will mark a beautiful day in my dash. Thanks be to God (and my ol’ band
director) for that.
Make the most of your
dash. Don’t just do something. Do
something to make the world a better place. Do something that pushes you and
the world beyond potential and into a new reality.
