The Last Time is Usually the One We Never Notice

The Last Time Is Usually the One We Never Notice

There are certain seasons of life that seem like they'll last forever.

When my children were growing up, our calendar was always full. There were baseball games in the spring, soccer in the backyard until it got too dark to see the ball, music recitals that somehow always seemed to arrive before anyone felt ready, birthdays that filled the house with family, and evenings spent reading books before bed. Somewhere along the way, Disney movies became part of our family rhythm. Years later, Hallmark movies found their way into it too. Mixed into all of that was the life of our church.

When we planted a church in Winchester, our family naturally became part of the work. My kids weren't spectators. They greeted people, helped wherever they could, served alongside me, and became part of what God was building there. Looking back, I don't think they ever saw it as work. It was simply our life. At the time, none of it felt unusual. It was just Tuesday. Or Saturday. Or another Sunday morning.

Life wasn't asking us to make memories. It was asking us to be faithful to the day in front of us.

I think that's why the last time usually goes unnoticed.

No one tells you it's the last music recital you'll attend because your daughter is now grown. No one whispers that this will be the final bedtime story before your children become too old to ask for one. No one announces that you've just watched your last Little League game, celebrated your last birthday with everyone living under the same roof, or kicked a soccer ball around the backyard for the final time. Those moments don't end with a ceremony. They simply give way to a new season.

Years later, something small brings them back. You'll hear a song. Walk past a baseball field. Find an old photograph tucked inside a book. You'll smile before you even realize why. I've learned that life is filled with firsts that we celebrate and lasts that we rarely recognize.

We throw parties for beginnings. We seldom realize an ending has happened until we're looking at it through the rearview mirror. I don't write that with sadness. I write it with gratitude. What a gift it was to have those years. What a gift it is to have the memories. And what a gift it is that life keeps inviting us into new seasons instead of asking us to live in the old ones forever.

These days, life looks different. The children are adults. Some have children of their own. The house is quieter. The conversations are different. Yet I've discovered that every season has ordinary moments that don't seem very important while you're living them.

Someday, these will become the memories you'll smile about too. I wonder if that's one of the reasons Scripture reminds us, "Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." I've come to believe that wisdom isn't counting how many days we have left. It's recognizing the value of the one we're living. The coffee you're sharing with your spouse this morning. The phone call from your son. Dinner with friends. A quiet walk at the end of the day.

These don't usually feel like the moments that define a life. Until one day you realize they did.

Perhaps that's God's kindness. He doesn't tell us when the last time will be because He wants us to keep living, loving, laughing, and hoping instead of mourning something that hasn't ended yet.

He simply gives us today. And today's ordinary moments may become tomorrow's treasured memories.

So enjoy them while they're still called today.