A Few More Years

“Hey! When are you going to stop all of that nonsense and get serious about your life?”

Oh, just a few more years after I’ve had my time, sown my wild oats, and the like. I’ll settle down then.

“What makes you think so?”

Oh, I don’t know. I just suppose it’ll be that way.

“Any guarantee you’ll be able to change then? Or that you’ll even make It before those oats have spring up?

No, but I’ll take my chances.

“Sounds risky to me.”

I like risks.

“Yeah. But look at what you’re risking—it’s the rest of your life. What you’ll do with it; how you’ll make it count.”

You sound like my grandmother—or, worse still—like my Sunday Schoolteacher.

“What would your Sunday Schoolteacher think of the kind of worthless life you’re living?”

Ha! She’d let me have it—good!

“Tell you off?”

No. She’d start preaching to me about using my life to serve the Lord.”

“Well, would she be wrong—or would she be right?”

You know the answer to that.

“And so do you. Why are you ignoring her good advice?”

I don’t know. I guess it’s just the way that things fell out for me.

“Fell out? You didn’t have anything to do with what’s happened?”

I guess I did.

“You did, all right! And you have a lot to do with how you spend the rest of your life.”

I know that.

“Then what are you going to do about a life that so far hasn’t amounted to much, even though you say you’re a Christian?

I don’t know.

“How can you decide?”

I don’t know.

Reader—do you?

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