Years ago, before I began preparing for the ministry, I heard a sermon in which the question was raised: Suppose that you knew that you would die in three years, what changes would you make in your life? The folks around us started talking about possible job changes and possible places that they wanted to visit, or things that they wanted to do before they died.

A second question was asked, lowering the time frame to one year. Vacations became more pronounced, along with spending time with family members.

Finally, the question was asked: Suppose that you knew that you would die in three months, what changes would you make in your life? Suddenly, everyone seemed to have travel plans. Several even mentioned taking their families along, since they knew that they couldn't take their money with them.

Our understanding of time changes according to the various stages of our lives. It is also shaped by our experiences. When we are young, looking forward to everything from learning to drive, graduations, voting, college and finding a life partner, time may feel #“too slow.#” We may also act as though we are immortal - that is probably the only way of explaining some of the foolhardy risks that so many of us take in our late teens and early 20s.

On the other end, as we observe the effects of aging on our bodies and we go through the various losses of family members and friends, time may appear to be racing too fast. It is hard to say when we first realize the limitations of time, and the fact that we cannot turn back the clocks on our lives. Instead, it always seems as though we are moving inexorably forward, as though we are constantly adapting to a new “daylight savings time” with the clocks moving forward.

I tend to believe that each of us grasps this understanding when something happens that teaches us that none of us are immortal. Eventually, everyone dies.

Religious stories of an after-life exist because we want some assurance that this is not all that there is. Yet, it is this realization that we all die that makes us human and compels us to ask how we are spending our lives. It is only when we fully grasp that time is a currency of sorts that we take seriously our finitude. Peter Lynch, who guided Fidelity's Magellan Fund when it became the largest mutual fund in the world, once wrote that he never knew anyone whose last words were #“I wish that I had spent another day at the office.#”

Often, it is only when we come to grips with our finitude that we make the extra efforts to spend time with our loved ones or reconcile differences that have kept us estranged. It is the fortunate family that takes care of this while there is still time.

When I am performing a memorial service, I often mention that our lives are framed by birth and death, and we spend our days upon the earth dancing on this Canvas of Life. When death comes, the life portrait is complete, and all that is left is the memories that others have of us from our various deeds and interactions. It is with this in mind that I ask the question:

How are you spending your life?

Are you seeking opportunities to snatch a few days, or, even hours with the people who mean the most to you?

Are you spending time working for the causes or participating in the types of activities that enable you to grow your soul?

How are you touching the lives of other people, and how are you opening yourself up so that they can touch your life?

Think again of that exercise that I described at the beginning of the article: What does it say about your life if you feel that you need to spend those last weeks on vacation?

Look at how you are spending your life. Look at where you are giving your time and donating your resources: time as well as financial.

Spend your life generously, as well as joyfully. When your life ends, may you, and others, look upon that portrait of experiences and give thanks for all that you have done.

The Rev. Dr. Stanley Sears is the minister at the Unitarian

Universalist Society of Auburn