When I was young, time was like water from a garden hose.
Flowing freely, limitless supply.
I could afford to run it all day long.
Play in it, wash with it, drink from it, water the flowers.
I had all the time I needed…
That was then.
Now, time is like water contained in a bucket.
It’s limited, and the portions I choose to drink from, play in, wash in, and water with represent a much larger percentage of the total I have left.
My children are like two sponges dipped in my water bucket.
They soak up time.
The older they get, the smaller the sponge gets, and the less time they soak up.
These sponges are in my hands, for now. The water contained in them all the time I have left with my children.
And I’m going to squeeze out every drop of joy and laughter and truth and goodness I can.
Until the water, the time, is all gone.