Sometimes, days go by too slowly, like the last day of a semester or an entire day spent driving. But sometimes, days disappear in a blink. Mornings and afternoons and evenings like this day, this Saturday, spent with friends as dear as to be considered family – Magdala, Licht, Prinses, Matahari – and friends newly made – Dutch painter number one, and Dutch painter number two. What magnificent human beings do exist on this Earth. What magnificent days God gives and gifts to His beloved.

I am certainly not alone in asserting that few know me as I know my own mind.

For example, perhaps five people on Earth know that my second most important love language, as I understand it from various internet quizzes and real-life situations, is quality time.

What does that mean? It doesn’t mean staring dead-eyed at a television screen while in the same room. It doesn’t mean sitting in a lecture hall and taking the same notes with similar writing utensils, nor does it even mean the simple act of sharing food or time with someone.

Quality time, to me at this moment and under the influence of only two decades of understanding, is time offered and time taken with intent. Quality time is more than time spent in the presence of another. It is time that deserves the adjective of “quality.” It is time that is truly spent together, willingly and joyfully, with a human being from whose existence one derives an enthusiastic delight. Quality time is meaningful and deliberate.

(On another note, as I write this while watching more Reign, I wish I could say things like “You will meet with my extreme displeasure” and not be stared at quizzically.)

I realize that time is valuable, and that any time spent with or for the sake of another is a gift of immeasurable value. But some moments are worth more than others.

Do you remember every second of every hour of every day of every year you’ve walked this planet? Probably not, which I take as proof for my statement.

In turn, some moments and some memories mean more to me than others.

The memory of a sixteenth birthday kidnapping and surprise party, one of the first times that I felt the real and sincere love of many friends surrounding me, and a moment that I cried my eyes out with happy tears.

The memory of crossing the finish line at my very last cross country meet, hearing the presence of tears in my coach’s voice when he told me he was proud of the three years I had spent under his guidance.

The memory of my confession of faith, surrounded once again by people who loved me and who were appreciated in turn, more than they knew or understood.

All of my favorite memories involve people, and quality time spent with those people.

I may not be the easiest person to read. I may often be a rock of little or no emotion. I may be more than difficult to understand at the best of times, and especially at the worst of times.

But I love and am loved. Both by the God that I trust and serve, and by those that He providentially places in my life.

“Life is summed up in how well we have loved.” Matthew Sleeth.

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