The Age My Father Never Got Past

The test results were good. That answered one question—but it raised a more important one.

The report used clinical language.

Well-seated left atrial appendage closure device.

No peri-device leak.

No device-related thrombus.

Most people would probably read those words and need somebody to explain them. I knew enough to understand what mattered.

The Watchman was where it was supposed to be. It wasn’t leaking. There was no clot attached to it.

After undergoing my second ablation and Watchman implant in May, this was the Watchman report Annita and I had hoped for. It was the answer people had prayed for with us.

I felt relieved.

I felt grateful.

But after sitting with it, another question started bothering me:

After spending so much of my life asking God to protect me, bring me through, and give me more time, what am I doing with the time He has already given me?

I Have Had More Than One Warning

I was 38 years old when doctors found a 99% blockage in my LAD—the artery people call the widow maker.

I didn’t have a heart attack, but I was knocking on the door of one. I had been unloading a refrigerated trailer in Pennsylvania when something didn’t feel right. By the next morning, I was in an emergency room. Soon after that, I was lying in a cardiac catheterization lab learning just how close things had come.

Then there has been the AFib.

The procedures.

The stents.

The medications.

The appointments where I waited for somebody to walk into the room and explain what came next.

This year brought another ablation and the Watchman implant. Then came the waiting for the scan that would tell us whether the Watchman was seated properly and working as intended.

I also turned 55 this year.

That number carries weight for me because my father was 55 when he died. I was only 12 years old.

I don’t believe every birthday needs to become a dramatic speech about mortality. But I would be lying if I said turning the same age my father was when he died didn’t make me stop and think.

I am standing at an age he never moved beyond.

I have children he never got to watch grow up.

I have grandchildren he never got to meet.

I have Annita beside me.

I have a faith that has been tested, stretched, neglected at times, restored, and made stronger through things I would never have chosen.

I have been given days my father didn’t get.

That doesn’t make me better or more deserving. It makes me responsible for what I do with them.

We Pray Differently When We Are Scared

Fear has a way of making prayer simple.

Before this last ablation, I laid in a pre-op bed running a list in my head I never said out loud—things I hadn’t gotten around to telling Annita, things I hoped my kids already knew without me having to say them. I didn’t tell her any of that. I just told her I loved her and let them wheel me back.

When you are waiting on a procedure, a test result, or a doctor’s call, you don’t worry about sounding spiritual. You don’t search for impressive words.

You ask God to help you.

You ask Him to protect you.

You ask Him to let the procedure work.

You ask for more time with your wife, children, and grandchildren.

You ask Him to calm the thoughts you haven’t said out loud because you don’t want the people you love to know how scared you really are.

Then the good report comes.

The immediate fear lifts. Your shoulders drop. You breathe a little easier.

You thank God.

And then, if you’re not careful, you go right back to living as if the days ahead were guaranteed.

That is the part I don’t want to rush past.

I knew what to ask God for when I was worried. Now I need to know how to live after He answered.

A Good Report Is Not the Finish Line

The CT report answered a medical question.

It didn’t answer the question of what I should do next with my life.

It didn’t guarantee me another year, another decade, or even another day. No medical report can do that.

James 4:14, NLT says our lives are like the morning fog—here for a little while and then gone. That isn’t meant to make us live frightened. It is meant to make us live awake.

There is a difference.

Fear says I could lose everything, so I’d better spend my life worrying about it.

Wisdom says I won’t have everything forever, so I’d better appreciate it, care for it, and use it while it is here.

A good report is not permission to fall back asleep spiritually.

It is another opportunity to wake up.

More Time Is Not the Same as Unlimited Time

I have wasted time.

I have wasted it being angry about things I couldn’t change.

I have wasted it replaying conversations that were already over.

I have wasted it trying to control outcomes that never belonged to me.

I have wasted it worrying about tomorrow while barely noticing the people sitting with me today.

That doesn’t mean none of those concerns mattered. Some of them mattered deeply. Some still do.

But caring about something and surrendering my entire life to it are not the same thing.

Psalm 90:12, NLT says, “Teach us to realize the brevity of life, so that we may grow in wisdom.”

Moses didn’t ask God to help us deny that life is short. He asked God to help us understand it correctly.

Knowing life is short should change how I speak to Annita.

It should change how quickly I forgive.

It should change how present I am with my children and grandchildren.

It should change how long I hold onto pride.

It should change how willing I am to obey when God puts something on my heart.

It should change what I call important.

I have asked God for more time. I don’t want to treat that time like it has no value now that I have it.

I Don’t Want to Merely Survive

Surviving is a gift, but survival cannot be the entire purpose.

I don’t want to spend the rest of my life simply avoiding the next medical crisis. I want to live it.

I want to love my wife well—not just assume she knows what she means to me.

I want my children to know that I am proud of them.

I want my grandchildren to remember that Papa was present. Not perfect. Not always serious. Not somebody who had all the answers. Just present, faithful, and willing to show them what following Jesus looked like in ordinary life.

I want to tell people what they mean to me while they are still here to hear it.

The life I prayed to keep living is already happening.

It is happening when Annita and I sit together doing nothing remarkable.

It is happening when the grandchildren come through the door.

It is happening on Sunday mornings at church.

It is happening in ordinary meals and quiet moments that don’t feel important until they’re gone.

I cannot keep asking God for more life while overlooking the life directly in front of me.

Maybe using the time God gives us doesn’t always mean doing something enormous.

Maybe it means making the phone call.

Sitting at the table a little longer.

Putting the phone down.

Saying “I love you” without waiting for a special occasion.

Going to church when staying home would be easier.

Apologizing before pride has time to build a wall.

Praying with somebody instead of merely telling them you will pray for them.

Doing the next right thing while you still have the opportunity to do it.

What Am I Doing With Today?

I am thankful for the good report.

I am thankful the Watchman is seated properly.

No leak.

No clot.

I am thankful for the doctors, nurses, medical technology, prayers, and people who walked through this with us.

But I don’t want gratitude to end with saying, “Thank You.”

I want gratitude to become the way I live.

I don’t know how much time I have left. Nobody does. A good CT scan doesn’t change that.

But I know I have today.

And today is enough time to be faithful.

Today I can love the people God has placed in my life.

Today I can forgive.

Today I can pray.

Today I can stop postponing the thing I already know God wants me to do.

For years, part of my prayer has been, “God, give me more time.”

Maybe the prayer I need now is different.

“God, teach me how to use the time You’ve already given me.”

Prayer

God, thank You for the Watchman that’s holding steady, seated where it should be, no leak, no clot. Thank You for every day since that blockage in my LAD, every day since my father’s 55th birthday came and went and I kept living past it. Thank You for the people who prayed with us and stood beside us through all of it.

Forgive me for asking You for more time while wasting the time already in front of me. Help me stop living as though tomorrow is guaranteed. Teach me to love Annita well, forgive quickly, stay present with my children and grandchildren, and obey when You put something on my heart.

I don’t know how many days I have left, but the days I do have belong to You. Help me use them faithfully.

Amen.

My father was 55 when his time ran out. I am 55, and mine hasn’t. I am living in time he never received. If God has given you another chance too, what are you doing with yours?