What would you be doing?

The above Tweet (from @runnerbliss) caught my attention this morning. Not because it purports to be a quote from Steve Jobs, but because it made me stop and think.

Actually, I almost ignored the whole thing. After an immediate mental knee-jerk "I wouldn't be going to work" answer, I looked a little deeper inside. I found more questions and just a few answers.

If I knew today was my last day of life, what would I do?

I'd wake and spend a few extra minutes in bed looking at my sleeping daughter and wife. Yes, our little one still creeps into bed with us almost every night. She can be difficult to sleep next to but truly adorable to wake up with.

I'd get up, shower, dress and look in on my other kids, all of whom would be sound asleep.  Yes, I said dress...I mean for work. I'd feed the dogs, make breakfast and lunch and I'd go to work. And I would go to work. Its not that I'm overly thrilled with going, but if today is my last day I'd want to do all the things I'm supposed to do. Who knows, this may be the day I can make a difference for someone. Not by starting an IV or pushing some medication. The place is full of people that can do that.

I'd come home and go for a run. Yes, I think I would! Hey, if my heart is about to stop, I think I'd like to hear it beat loud and strong for just a little while longer. I'd want to fill my lungs with air, my blood with oxygen and feed it to my brain. I'd want to hear each breath, feel the sun or rain or snow on my face. I'd like to see the world go by at my pace...just for a little while. Running lets me know I'm alive.

At home, all six of us would be around the table for an evening meal. And we'd talk about our daily actives. I, of course would dispense valuable "dad" information pertaining to life and school and sports. They'd smile and nod from time to time. Maybe they'd listen.

We'd "watch" some television together later while the kids surfed their phones. But we'd be together. I'd be able to sit there and enjoy our family just as it is and dream about how they'll grow.

And then, as each good night is said, I climb the thirteen steps to my bed. I think I climb those stairs a little slower than normal. I'd listen to the familiar pops and moans of the stairs under my feet and feel the cool hardwoods...for just a minute or two.

I'd get in bed, covered with my favorite camping blanket. My wife would be next to me (chances are our youngest would be, too). Books would be read and songs would be sung. I'd listen and I'd smile.

And as I waited for the last tic of the clock, the last systole to occur, I'd close my eyes and kneel before Christ in my mind. I wouldn't need to say anything...He already knows.

In the end, its not about "doing what you want to be doing". Its about doing what you're supposed to be doing. In my case, I'm supposed to be dad...and this is what dad does.

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