Someday isn't on any calendar

“I should really get that looked at.” “I should call them back.” “I should sort out the money thing.” You mean it every time you say it. And it's been sitting in the same spot longer than you'd like to admit. Nothing failed, exactly. It's like forty tabs open on your phone, each one draining a little battery.

An intention with no date can't be kept. There's no moment when it happens or doesn't, so it never pays you back. That's why it's so comfortable to carry. You're never on the hook. You get to feel like someone who means well without ever finding out if you follow through. The cigarette lived off one undated sentence, and you know which one.

That one doesn't live here anymore. You gave it a date, and the date showed up. The rest still cost you, though. Every time you mean something and nothing follows, part of you files it under talk. Close those tabs one at a time and that changes. You become someone whose sentences arrive.

Grab the smallest of those sentences and give it a day and a time. Say it out loud with the date attached. The date is what turns a wish into a promise you can keep. Let God hear it too. God, You heard the date. Walk me to it. Thursday at seven. Now it's real.