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Time is life. We all have the same number of seconds per day, so why is it that I never seem to have enough of it to do all the things I have in mind?  I’ve never understood boredom.  There are enough projects in my head to fill decades of free time.  Still, I’ve mis-spent plenty of time, and value mindless relaxation, too.  But the quest for “busy”-ness can overcome me like an illness.  I haven’t posted much, lately, because I’ve neglected a few of my most important priorities in the name of productivity. (Matt. 6:21  “For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”)

Aligning my activities with the priorities I consciously acknowledge needs continual tweaking. That’s why, when my high school freshman son decided he wanted to try out for the tennis team, I found myself in this beautiful setting.

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As you may suspect, I’m an unlikely sight at the tennis court.  I’m just elated when I make contact with the ball, no matter where it goes.  His dad would have been a better partner, as he lettered in tennis in high school, but he wasn’t available for the afternoon.

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Fortunately our son is athletic and fit (unlike his mom.) He’s also a really good kid.  After all, teenagers and their moms don’t always see eye to eye, and we’re no exception, but he never seemed to mind being seen with his frumpy old mom.  We had the court to ourselves and had wonderful candid conversation while we ran after the ball.  He even admitted he was having a great time.  I guess he really was, because we went out again every afternoon all week while the weather was nice.

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We each noticed some improvement.  I started connecting on my backhand.  His serve improved and he started to get comfortable switching hands.  The best thing was the self-depreciating comic relief.  Sharing the same air in the family room, each doing our own thing, just isn’t synonymous with quality time.  If I had chosen to be “productive” I might have missed out on the treasured opportunity to relax and catch up on my relationship with my son in this beautiful setting!

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