Each Sunday during the summer I watch renters arrive at their units. They carry in suitcases, bags of food, and sports equipment, laughing and calling to one another. During the week I witness their trips to the trash container, toting empty pizza boxes, soft drink cartons, paper plates. Their kites fly, their music reaches my deck, and their laughter carries in the evening stillness. Early the following Sunday they check out, muted now, sad to leave, trudging down stairs with backward looks, waving goodbye to the house as they turn at the driveway’s end. I hope they take with them good memories—picnics on the beach, conversations sparked with laughter, shared experiences recalled by photographs and souvenirs. I hope they filled the week with kindness and love, with forgiveness and sharing. I hope for them, as I hope for myself, time well spent, time used with care and thought, whether given to leisure rest or work. Our weeks, like our lives, are ours on loan; they need to be filled deliberately and gently. Please forgive me, Lord, when I behave as though my life here is an eternity when it is only a brief span of time. Help me fill my days in loving service to you. Amen.