I don’t know why I am writing this; it likely will never be read by any other person. I am doing it entirely for myself, in memoriam
of a life well lived, a son sorely missed and greatly mourned.
Some would say his life was too short, or that he never had a chance. . .oh what might have been. . . .
I say he lived his life as fully as any man woman or child on this Earth. It was his life, and it was complete, and it was perfect.
The excerpt above taken from Michael Lynes’ book talks about inspiration as frankly as one might depict it. However it doesn’t tell us what to do. It isn’t about self help. And while it doesn’t preach to us it also makes no attempt to tell us how to think. Yet think you will when you read about the life of a child taken so pitilessly from a loving home.
So how can the experience effect you, reading about the great triumph and tragedy of strangers? It reminds some of us that life’s precious moments are not to be wasted. It teaches others to act before it’s too late. Why do so many people seem to fret away infinite numbers of hours accomplishing nothing? For each such soul how many others can we point to who never get the chance, their total existence not extended beyond childhood?
I’m struck with the thought of a person who chooses to do the absolute least for everyone and everything thing they encounter, and you know who I’m thinking about, because you’ve met ’em.
Is it okay, do you think? What must we say to them?
I will say this to myself. Do not forget, not for a moment. Redeem the time.