Savoring the Uniqueness of the Day

Savor the day. There won't be another one like it for...well, a long time -- a hundred or a thousand years, depending on how you count it. 09/09/09. Last year the Chinese took advantage of the opportunity to celebrate their lucky number 8 by kicking off the Olympic games at 8 pm on 08/08/08. Numerologists lean toward the number 9, the climactic number of the single digits, associating it with forgiveness, compassion and success on the positive side and arrogance and self-righteousness on the negative. Interesting; and when the alarm went off this morning I thought it was merely signaling the launch of another day.

And it portends to be another busy one -- a funeral to both prepare and officiate; meetings at the beginning and the end, with a couple of others in between. Somewhere in the seams between them a sermon garden had better get some water; hopefully a meal or two to consume, as well.

But then yesterday comes to mind -- sitting with the family whose mother will be buried today, listening to their stories and their memories and their affections; checking in on a widower, only days into his grief, busying himself with thank-you notes; a lunch and conversation with a couple of church leaders giving attention to our common service; a couple of hospital visits, plus a visit to a retirement center to wish a fresh 101-year-old a happy birthday; stopping by my polling place to add my vote; a trip to the farm to pick up this week's vegetables, followed by the chopping and sizzling of a handful of the pickings for dinner. It didn't have a memorable date to set it apart, but yesterday was a precious day of its own with hours meaningfully spent and lives fruitfully intersected.

I wonder when we -- I -- got away from the sense that everyday is unique; that apart from particular designations like "Mother's Day" or birthdays or Valentines Day or Independence Day or days marked by numerical oddities like 09/09/09, days were merely...days? Day after day. Constellations of hours circumscribed by darkness. I wonder when they became routine? Perhaps lulled by their apparent abundance we cease to notice them -- as invisible as individual grains of sand on the beach, or individual blades of grass in the lawn. The reality, of course, is that their abundance is unpredictable -- more gift than guarantee.

Which is to remind myself here at the beginning of this new one that for reasons far more significant than its numerical novelty, this day, like every other one, is a day to be savored. There won't be another one like it for...ever.