Spent Hours

A friend sent me something the other day that has been sitting with me ever since.

We hadn't really hung out much in quite a while, and then somehow we ended up hanging out twice in the same week. He had been watching an Instagram video while he was working out and sent it to me because it made him think about our family.

Then he sent me this:

"I thought of you and Lisa as I listened to this because of how you made us feel when we first moved into the ward. You welcomed us into your beautiful home, embraced my family, and sincerely connected. We felt seen and loved. That feeling has stayed with us eight years later. THANK YOU! You're a power couple and I am fortunate to have crossed paths with you guys."

I remember when they first came to church. I think it was their first Sunday in the ward. We were sitting in Sunday School and I walked over, sat down next to him, and basically told him, "I think we're going to be best friends."

That was kind of it.

We immediately embraced their family into our lives. They came over. We spent time together. Our families became friends. I certainly wasn't sitting there thinking I was doing something that somebody would remember eight years later. I just liked the guy and his family and wanted them to know they had friends here.

But eight years later, that was what he remembered.

That hit me because I spend a ridiculous amount of my life thinking about how I'm spending my hours.

I'm constantly doing the math in my head. There's an hour left before dinner and a week's worth left to do. I can keep working and get a little further ahead, or I can shut it down and go inside. I can finish the call, answer the email, solve one more problem. Or I can go find my kids, spend time with my wife, call somebody, serve somebody, exercise, rest, or do one of the other twenty things I know I probably need to do.

And whichever one I choose, something else doesn't get done.

That gets especially hard when things are tight. Anxiety starts doing some of the thinking for me. Work a little more. Make sure the bills are covered. Get ahead of whatever might be coming. Keep carrying it because you're the one who is supposed to carry it.

I feel a real responsibility to provide for my family. I don't resent that responsibility. I actually care a lot about it. But sometimes I have a hard time knowing when I've done enough for today.

Because the other side is real too.

My kids are growing up while I'm working. My wife needs parts of me that can't be deposited into an account later. There are conversations and afternoons and completely ordinary moments happening right now that I'm never going to get another shot at.

So people say, "Find the balance."

Man, I've looked.

I don't think balance holds still long enough to find it.

There are days when another hour of work is exactly where I should be. There are days when I need to close the computer and walk inside. Sometimes somebody tells me I should have done one when I chose the other, and they might even be right.

That's probably one of the hardest parts for me. Everybody can see the thing you didn't do. You're the one who saw what was standing beside it when you had to choose.

I still need to listen when somebody I love tells me they needed more from me. I need to be willing to admit when I got it wrong. But I'm learning that I can't spend my life making every decision based on whether everybody else agrees with where I put my time.

At some point I have to take the whole thing to God.

That's really where the testimony in this song is for me.

I believe my time is a stewardship. So is my ability to work. So are the people God has put in my life. I have a finite amount of all of it, and I'm responsible for what I do with it.

Then I get that message from my friend.

Eight years later, he remembered how he felt.

He remembered being new at church and having somebody walk over and immediately make room for him. He remembered his family being embraced. He remembered feeling seen and loved.

I have no idea what work I had sitting on my desk that week. I couldn't tell you what was in my bank account. I don't remember what problem I was worried about.

But somehow a few hours we spent on people were still sitting there eight years later.

That's where "Spent Hours" came from for me.

I'm still going to work. I'm still going to worry sometimes. I'm still going to get the calculation wrong. I'll probably keep wondering whether I'm giving enough to my family, my work, the Lord, and the people around me.

I just want to get better at asking a different question.

Where did I spend it?

And when all of these hours are finally gone, I hope some of them are still out there somewhere, living in the people I spent them on.