23 minutes

After my mom was diagnosed with cancer she bought a little saying that was carved out of wood, and put it in the windowsill above the kitchen sink so she would be sure to see it often. It said, "Every Day Matters." It was, and still is so true. But now I appreciate even more that sometimes Every Minute Matters.

Due to some crazy mis-communications, we finally got Lydia's death certificate today. (I told Dan if we have to go through something like this again, it's his turn in figuring out the death certificate - it was not fun.) It is such a final document - the paper it came on is almost twice her size. As I looked it over and read the details, I was sad when it asked for her age. If she was still alive the answer would be 8 months and 9 days. But there was no year. There was no month. There was no day. There was no hour. Only 23 minutes. She was a fighter, my little one - all the doctors and nurses said so, and you can see it in her face. But God had a plan for her. A plan that involved only 23 minutes in her fragile, little body. And I love her all the more for fighting for those 23 minutes, as reflecting on them has taught me more than a life-time of study ever could.

As we celebrate Easter, let us for a moment on Sunday, put aside the candy, the colored eggs, and the bunny, and truly remember what makes that Sunday so wonderful. Let us offer up a little prayer of gratitude to the God who gives us the blessing of life, the minutes in our days, and the ability to be with our families forever.