Most days carry with them no memories. The vast majority of them are uneventful, indistinguishable units of time on a calendar. Then something spectacular happens and a day becomes plated in gold, the birth of a child, a wedding, an anniversary. Others are marked in black, someone dear gets sick, an accident, someone beloved slips away unexpectedly. But most days lack drama, nothing of consequence happens and one blends into the next like water colors.
But is this as it should be? Is life to be lived in long seasons of sameness interrupted by the spectacular and the heartbreaking? I think not. Maybe everyday should be gold plated, everyday an adventure. If our hearts could take it, wouldn't living everyday as if it were our last make a difference? Sure, it would be exhausting, but maybe each day should end with us collapsing in bed completely spent. Maybe we're all supposed to arrive at the end with scars all over us, battered by an energetic life, not as a well preserved corpse about whom people say, "Oh, he looked so good for his age."
"This is the day that the Lord hath made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."