Three things in your pockets

One year from today. Nothing special on the calendar. You head for the door and do the quick pat down. Keys. Wallet. Phone. That's the whole list now. There used to be a fourth thing, and it ran your day.

The cigarette made itself the fourth thing in your pockets, then charged you every week for the spot. A year out, the money stays put. Your hours belong to you, start to finish. You're calm, and not the white knuckle kind. Nobody has to hold anything together.

That person isn't a daydream. They're under construction right now, and God's the one building. Today counts, whether it feels big or not. Every ordinary day you get through hands Him more to work with. A year goes by fast. They're already close enough to recognize you across a room.

Open your calendar. Go to this date next year and make an event. Name it Told you so. Then go live today, no ceremony. A year from now that reminder pops up, and the person reading it is the one you built.