When I was younger, I had to go with my grandad to church. He was, what I used to think of as a hardcore Christian, that was until I had been exposed to Americans. He never missed a service, and I hated going.
All the excuses I could think of were saved up for the weekend to try to get out of it. I honestly despised going with every fiber of my being. I was young, and you’re supposed to hate things like this, and it didn’t help that every second of it was terrible. The place was cold, the people were weird, and I had much better things to be doing with my time on a Sunday morning. Yet now I would give anything to go with him.
He passed away some years ago now, and I look back on even the times I would rather not be there as some of the best times of my life. You see, there will always be a last time you have to do something you dislike — but when it’s gone you will miss it.
I’ve sat up at night for hours and hours with my daughter Lucie. Through whole nights just holding her because she needed me close to settle. There have been times that my son requires something doing and all I want to do is sit down for a bit. I will always do them though, with a smile on my face, because there will be a time when they won’t need me any more, and I’ll miss them.
You never get the time back, even the times you hate. However, from experience I know how badly you will want to live that experience again should the worst happen. Even the times you hate is precious, appreciate it.