When you give someone your time, you are giving them a portion of your life that you’ll never get back.Your time is your life. That is why the greatest gift you can give someone is your time. ~ Rick Warren
When I think back over my life, I remember moments more than things. Do you? Things gather dust, grow outdated, break, get lost, sometimes sold in garage sales, or are given away. But when I give my time, moments are created. Those we keep for a lifetime. Giving time gives me rewards, like laughing with my dad. Or the fun I have taking my mom to Mississippi to visit her sister. (My beautiful mom is on my right side in this pic. Her sister is on my left). We talk, we laugh, and solve the worlds problems during that ten-hour journey.
Watching my children grow into adults and having children of their own are like daily diamonds—a lot of pressure while they are forming, but are sparkling jewels in my memories. Remember that Amanda! Elizabeth is a diamond in the rough!
And let’s not forget friends. When my soul-tank is empty, they fill it back up. I always want to make time to do the same for them.
I gladly give the gift of my time to others. because the rewards received back are rich moments that will remain with me throughout my life and grow more valuable with each passing year.
Stuff is stuff. Poof! It’s gone. But moments? They are everlasting. And in the giving is the receiving.
Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things. ~ Robert Brault
I remember visiting my grandmother, Cladie Mae Leslie, in Durant, Mississippi. She taught me how to shell purple hull peas and speckled butter beans. What a thrill it gave my child’s heart to discover purple splotches on the creamy white flesh of the beans. How I loved sitting with her on the porch swing on warm summer evenings, swaying back and forth while listening to the rise and fall of cicada and tree frog song. Magnolia blooms perfumed the humid night air. It was a little thing.
In Jackson, Mississippi, the first thing my grandmother, Molly Belle Lowe, would do when I arrived for a visit was to bundle me up and take me to the grocery store. There I could buy anything I wanted to eat during my stay. She taught me to love flowers and trees. I helped her water her gardens. My favorite was her mint patch because the refreshing tang of mint exploded when the spray hit it. I helped her pick figs and after supper we’d enjoy them with sugar and cream. It was a little thing.
At least two weekends a month we visited Granny and Grandaddy Diehl’s farm in Vilonia, AR. Granny let me pet her chickens and gather eggs. Grandaddy encouraged me to help him in his garden, only truth be known? I probably made more work for him. At five in the morning I followed him to the barn to milk the cows. He wore striped overalls and heavy work boots. I wore shorts and flip-flops. I can still feel the cold, dew-covered goose grass slapping my bare legs on the way to the barn. While he milked I hunted for nests of kittens in the hayloft. It was a little thing.
Now that I’m in my early sixties, I look back and realize these experiences were actually big things because they made me who I am today. When I pick up my grandchildren we visit the grocery for treats during their stay. We sit on my porch in the evenings, petting my cats and listening to the frog and night bug’s song. We shell peas or speckled butter beans together and they excitedly exclaim when they find a purple splotched one. They pick fruit from my garden and make cobbler with their grandfather. We visit my hens and after giving them a good petting, the grands gather eggs.
These are small moments in their lives. Time spent together. Little things. But when they are in their sixties, they will realize, just as I did, how big they actually were.