The most important thing in life…

is what you leave behind.  That’s right: your legacy.  Oh, to be sure, I could say, “The most important thing in life is Jesus [or to be a child of God, et al],” but think of it… To know God or not is to inevitably leave a legacy.  Perhaps I’m getting the cart before the horse [After all, I’m just now working on my first cup of coffee.], but it seems to me that or choices in life are all investing in one thing: what we leave behind us, what others will remember, what others will garner from our stories.

The other night, it occurred to me while I was putting Emery back to bed [He climbs out and sneaks around the house now.  Ugh.]: What I leave for him is the most special contribution I can make as a person.

A little bit more context… Aidan and Imogene were piled up in my lap watching the Braves game, and Emery got out of bed and snuck downstairs to check things out.  When I noticed him, my first thought was to get his little tail back in bed.  After all, he is the good sleeper of the family, and nothing is important enough to compromise his sleeping pattern.  Right?  Well, I was putting him back in bed, saying further prayers with him, and letting him know that I wanted him to have a good night’s sleep and remain in his bed till morning.  He answered me, “Yeah, sir.”  His eyes were sad, and I could hear tears in his voice.  That’s all it took.  It suddenly occurred to me: I couldn’t care less at that point about his sleeping habits.  [Mine are the pits, and I’ve turned out alright, right?]  At that point, he just wanted to spend time with Daddy like Imogene and Aidan were.  He doesn’t care a lick for baseball or the Braves [Not yet, anyhow.]; he just wanted Dad.  And, to add to that, the only thing Dad wanted was Emery.  So, for the next half hour or so, there we were… the four of us, piled up in a recliner that’s probably as old as I am, watching the Braves pull off an easy win over the Cubbies.

For the moment, the most important thing in life I could offer my three eldest was the memory of staying up late to watch some baseball.  Are there things more holy than that?  Perhaps.  And, then again, perhaps not.

About Adam Godbold

husband, father, pastor, and more View all posts by Adam Godbold

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