Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit”—yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. (James 4:13-14, ESV)
Chad emerged from the back of the stage and thoughtfully positioned himself on a stool. He carefully plugged his guitar into the sound system and after a few words of introduction he began to play and sing.
The song was an original. Birthed out of an unscripted confluence of love and pain, of life and death. Chad had married Lindsey just nine months before. He looked into the eyes of his 22-year-old bride and promised to love her through everything that life would bring them.
He knew. She knew. We all knew that Lindsey was in the battle of her life… but love beckoned, love sacrificed. Love said “I will.” And before they could celebrate their first anniversary she was gone. Beautiful Lindsey was gone.
His wedding band flashed as his fingers slid effortlessly across the neck of the guitar. What was once a symbol of fidelity, now a show of glimmering solidarity, a golden memorial.
The words rolled. Soulful, powerful, reflective words rolled. Written days after Lindsey’s death, the words carried the weight and influence that had been refined in the fire of grief. They chiseled their meaning on the emotionally softened hearts in the sanctuary. Then, with the precision of a prize-fighter, Chad delivered a phrase that hit squarely on the jaw of every unguarded heart in the room. “I would give all that I have for just one more day with you.”
The words hung in the air like an English fog.
A transaction impossible to negotiate, but a dream, a vision, a wish nonetheless… and in that hanging fog, a stark and stunning and unintended chastisement to every husband clinging to the hand of his bride. To me.
Chad, in words born of grief, had shaken the foundation of complacency of every lover in the room.
All I have… one more day. Just one.
He meant it. He would do it. For just twenty-four hours with Lindsey. Twenty-four hours of tenderness and touch. Twenty-four hours of laughter and life. Twenty-four hours of stories and silence. Twenty-four hours with Lindsey.
Everything he had.
From the lips of a heartbroken husband. Words amplified in the crucible of pain.
Love well.
Today.
While she’s close.
Convicted. Inspired. Undone.
In honor of Lindsey. In solidarity with Chad.
Every twenty-four hours… a sweet and precious gift. Worth unimaginable value.
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