Last week I was driving down East Broad Street in my hometown. I’ve been this way countless times. But as I was driving down East Broad this time, I was suddenly hit with something. No, it wasn’t a car, or deer or a dive-bombing bird on a mission to dirty my windshield.

I was hit with a strange wave of memories. It wasn’t really nostalgia. Just memories. As I passed through the 400 block and then the 500 block, pictures from my life flashed into my mind’s eye like an old-fashioned slide show.

I passed 531 East Broad, my Grammy’s last home. We played in her steep backyard while my dad mowed it with one of those motor-less mowers that simply spun a corkscrew of sharp blades.

This section of East Broad was also my newspaper route in my pre-teen years. I’d pick up my stack of papers and addresses at the press room just off of Broad. Stacks of carefully counted papers were waiting for us newsboys on the dilapidated porch of the press room. Fresh off the press, I rolled and inserted them into my ink-stained bag and went down East Broad, delivering our hometown and hometown-printed paper, the Souderton Independent.

A stop at the East Broad Deli at the end of the 500 block for some candy was always the highlight in the middle of my route.

On the first corner of the 500 block was the tuxedo place. Mr. DeSousa, I think, was the owner. He spoke with a very thick Italian accent that made all the suits seem stylish. It’s a French bakery now. But in our high school years, it was the only place to get your tux for the junior-senior proms. We wore velvet bow ties. Mr. DeSousa was very convincing.

409 East Broad was our first house. Janice and I made it our home for six years with a finance rate of 11%. Can you believe it? Back then, it was considered a decent rate. Ludicrous today.

A favorite coffee shop is on the first block and my chiropractor is on the last block. My high school, with so many great memories and an equal amount of awkward teenage moments, was on the 600 block. The band practice field sat on East Broad as well as the exit for the football locker room where our girlfriends waited for us after the games. I should clarify; I only had ONE girlfriend. Not girlfriendS. I not only played football on that block but years later, I coached football on the same field.

I never realized how much of my life passed through East Broad Street.

We had our first two babies on East Broad – well, not ON East Broad. They were born in a hospital and brought home there. I could see having ONE on the street – two would just be irresponsible. In fact, students walking along East Broad to the high school in the early 90’s may have seen a horrific scene through my front glass door; my one-year-old tumbling down the steps, toward the front door, stopped only by a diving heel catch by a fairly athletic dad (that’s how I used to describe myself).

But the truly horrific part wasn’t the tumble. It was the picture of dear old dad sprawled out on the steps, clutching his son’s heel because of his quick thinking – as he had just stepped out of the shower located at the top of the staircase!

That’s right. If you turned your head at just the right moment on East Broad Street in 1991, you would have seen an upside-down one-year-old, two stairs shy of a concussion, being held by a stark naked dad sprawled out on the steps above him and screaming for his wife to get a towel!

Ahh. The stories East Broad could tell. That flash of memories last week and the few more that trickled in as I rode that wave of nostalgia made me stop in wonder.

Was it a million times that I’ve driven, or walked or jogged this stretch of road? Most trips were inconsequential – picking up pizza, getting gas, whizzing off to work. But some trips are pressed forever into my mind and my heart and even my soul. I’m not sure I always noticed it when it was happening. In fact, I’m pretty sure I seldom noticed it was happening.

But today I’m taking notice. I’m slowing down the speed of the movie of my life and taking notice. I think that’s what it means when we read in Psalm 90:12:

“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”

It’s interesting that living with wisdom, with reflection and with purpose needs to be taught…“Teach us to number our days that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” Part of our human condition is our ability to very efficiently waste time. A little bit of irony there.

So it’s unnatural to live with wisdom. We must be taught. I also noticed it has something to do with numbering or noticing or sizing up OUR DAYS. We need to see them not just as boxes on a calendar. In each day is a box of treasure – to discover, to cherish, to share.

It’s not natural to view your day that way. According to this verse, it is supernatural. This is a prayer for God to teach us – and that is a supernatural transaction in our souls.

What an exciting prayer and transformative view of your morning, your afternoon, your evening. “God, help me slow down the reel and teach me to size up my days and see the treasure you place there.”

“Teach me to not count my days like someone counting pennies. Show me the significance of the story You are writing in my life.”

What an awesome adventure. Listen, I am really excited to hear that some of you are taking additional steps to make the inspirational practical! You are signing up and getting either the +NextStep personal guide or the +DeepDive study guide. I hope it is really beneficial for you.

I’d be interested in hearing from you the techniques you use to “number your days to gain a heart of wisdom.” Share them with me through my email: dave@lifeisbestwhen.com and I’ll find a way to share them with the rest of our LifeisBestWhen community.

I want to challenge you to stop on a familiar street in your city or town and ask yourself, “What significant life-shaping events happened to me on this street?” And then, keep your eyes open for the next life-shaping memory to form.

Remember: Life is Best – when we size up our day not in terms of its schedule, but in terms of its significance.

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