Several years ago, we had a client fly into Great Bend on his personal plane to meet with us about some tree work at his hangar. We had worked for him before and had been communicating for a week or so about some pruning and removal work he wanted completed.

He lived in Ohio, so this was not exactly a quick trip across town.

Honestly, most of what we needed to discuss probably could have been handled over the phone. We could have sent pictures or videos and worked through everything without him ever leaving Ohio. But he was not much of a technology guy. He preferred conversations in person. A handshake. Looking someone in the eye. Saying what needed to be said and moving on.

I respected that about him, of course.

He seemed very intentional with his words and his time. I remember thinking that maybe some of the conveniences I had grown accustomed to were not always making my life better. Maybe there was something valuable about occasionally choosing the more uncomfortable path. Showing up. Sitting across from someone. Being completely present.

The morning he was flying in, everything was arranged.

Our team knew what time he would arrive. They knew he needed to meet with us and then get back in his plane because he had another commitment in Ohio later that day.

At least, I thought everyone knew.

Unfortunately, our team looked at the wrong day on the schedule and went to another property.

I was going about my morning assuming everything was happening exactly as planned. In my mind, his plane had landed, our team had met him at the hangar, and they were probably already walking around the property discussing the trees.

Then my phone rang.

It was him. He politely asked if we were going to be there soon because he needed to get back in the air.

My heart about stopped. Our team should have already been there.

I told him I would figure out what had happened and apologized because it was becoming pretty obvious that somewhere along the way we had made a mistake.

We had.

The team was working away at another property, completely unaware that they were supposed to be meeting a man who had flown hundreds of miles to see us.

There was no great explanation. No excuse. We simply messed up.

We got everyone redirected as quickly as possible, and I headed to the airport myself. By the time we arrived, we were more than an hour late.

And I felt terrible.

I apologized over and over. I thought about the fuel he had burned. I thought about his schedule. I thought about the fact that this man had flown an airplane all the way from Ohio and was now standing around waiting because we failed to do what we said we were going to do.

I offered to compensate him for his fuel and his time.

He refused.

He told me I was making a much bigger deal out of it than he was. Then he said something like, “Jeremy, it is just money.”

At first, I wondered if he was being sarcastic, and was taking a shot at me.

But he was not.

I told him that regardless of how he viewed it, we were going to do what we believed was right.

That is when he reached out his hand. I reached out to shake it, and he grabbed my hand firmly, looked directly into my eyes, and said something I have never forgotten.

“Jeremy, there is no amount of money that can ever replace the time you are spending right now thinking the way that you are. Personally, I have learned to refuse to allow anger or frustration over any situation to consume the time I have right now to be happy and at peace. So choose wisely how you decide to spend this time and your time moving forward, okay?”

I do not remember everything that we talked about that day.

But I absolutely do remember that. It’s been five or six years now, and I still think about it.

Because he was not really talking about the hour we had cost him. He was talking about life. Money can be earned again. A mistake can be corrected. A tree can be replaced. A schedule can be rearranged.

But the hour we just lived is gone. There is no account we can withdraw from to get that back.

Not only before then, but since then even, I wonder how much of my life I have spent giving precious time to things that never deserved it.

Anger. Fear. Bitterness. Worry. Resentment. Replaying conversations that are already over. Imagining conversations that may never happen. Trying to control things God never gave me control over in the first place.

Sometimes I think those emotions are like renters in my mind. They move in quietly, and before long they are taking up space that was meant for joy, gratitude, peace, hope, and love.

And if I’m not careful, they live there rent free. Or maybe worse. Maybe I am the one paying them.

Paying them with minutes. Hours. Days. Pieces of a life I will never get back.

That does not mean we should never become angry. It does not mean fear is always avoidable or that grief, disappointment, and frustration are somehow signs that our faith is weak.

We are human. Jesus Himself experienced sorrow, anger, and anguish.

The question is not whether those emotions ever enter our hearts. The question is whether we allow them to take residence there.

In Ephesians it says, “Be very careful, then, how you live, not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity.”

Maybe making the most of our time is about more than productivity. Maybe it is also about deciding what deserves our attention. What deserves another hour of thought? What deserves another evening of worry? What deserves another morning of resentment? And what does not?

I still fail at this.

There are times when anger stays longer than it should. There are times when fear occupies rooms in my mind that should have been filled with faith. There are times when bitterness gets comfortable in places where gratitude belongs.

But every once in a while, I remember an airport hangar. I remember a man who had every reason to be frustrated with me, but instead chose to give me something far more valuable than forgiveness for being late.

He gave me perspective.

I can make more money. I can repair a mistake. I can rebuild a schedule. But I cannot relive today.

Neither can you.

So maybe one of the most important questions we can ask ourselves is not simply how we are spending our money. It is how we are spending our time.

And perhaps even more importantly, what are we allowing to occupy our minds while that time is passing? Because whatever is living there is being paid for with something we can never earn back.

Our life.

A Practice to Cultivate

The next time you feel anger, frustration, fear, or resentment beginning to settle in, ask yourself one question:

How much of my life am I willing to spend on this?

Not whether the feeling is justified. Not whether the other person was wrong. Just whether this deserves another ten minutes, another hour, or another day of the life God has given you.

Feel what you need to feel. Deal with what needs to be dealt with. But be careful about giving permanent residence to something that was only meant to visit.

‘Well Rooted’ is a column written by Jeremy Elliott for the Great Bend Tribune. Elliott owns a lawncare business and lives in the Great Bend area.