Blithely we move through the minutes as if breath and lungs are no big deal. We believe life is like a magician’s endless scarf and as long as we keep pulling days will keep coming out of the hat. We fail to see the slight of hand and fall for the oldest trick in the book: misdirection.
Everyday begs the question: “What will you do with me?”
What will you do with this one miraculous moment? What are you shooing away that demands to be born? You’ve wasted enough time here. Go. Breathe God’s air, work under his sky. Create something beautiful. Climb a mountain. Call your grandma. EAT THE BREAD. Write the song. Let the sun kiss your face, let love spill out. Selah.