“I don’t want to serve because I have time.
I want to serve because I only have time.”
The Spark
These words have been ringing in me for days — insistent, steady, almost like a whisper that won’t leave.
And yet, I realize I’ve already been living them for the past 18 months.
I’ve been called into places I never imagined, saying yes to what I never thought was mine to hold.
What looked like circumstance was, in truth, a path of awakening —
each step peeling away the illusion that time is abundant,
each step reminding me that the only time I truly have is the time right here.
The Flame
To serve because I “have time” is to treat service as something spare,
an afterthought when life leaves a margin.
But to serve because I “only have time” is to see that life itself is the offering,
and what I do with it is the return.
That shift turns service from convenience into calling,
from extra into essence.
Marcus Aurelius said it best:
“Waste no more time arguing what a good man should be. Be one.”
Not to talk about what matters.
To live it. Now.
The Light
This isn’t about fear of running out.
It’s about presence.
Living as though every act of care,
every small gesture,
every word of kindness
may be the only one I get to give.
Because it might be.
And it’s not just about me.
It’s about us.
Communities endure when we live as though time is shared, fragile, and holy.
So I’m listening to the whisper.
Asking what it would mean to steward my days — however many remain —
not as performance, not as obligation,
but as a way of being awake.
A way of remembering the spark alive in me and in us.
Maybe you’ve felt a similar whisper.
Maybe time’s brevity has tugged at you — not as a threat, but as an invitation.
If so, perhaps the same question is waiting for both of us:
How will we use the only time we have?
Maybe today, before the day slips away,
choose one act of service that carries the weight of your only time.