One of the greatest tragedies of a fast-forward world is that we are less available to be surprised by the spontaneous. As we sacrifice relationships on the altar of busyness, we come to the end of the day tired but unfulfilled. All day we made ourselves unavailable for a kind word, a game of chess, the sound of a child’s laughter, the smell of fresh bread baking. Like the African farmer who sold his farm to search for diamonds, not knowing that his property would turn into one of the largest diamond mines in all of Africa, we forget that the greatest treasures on earth are sometimes found in our own backyard. But we may not have tomorrow to hold those treasures close and to celebrate the joy they bring.

I had a startling reminder of this last winter when I took my daughter, Rachael, to the swimming pool one evening. It was 20 below zero outside, so we ended up sitting in the hot tub surrounded by small children and adults-some who looked like rather well-done lobsters.

“Dad,” said Rachael, tugging on my arm, “can I have two dollars for some treats?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Well, can we go out for ice cream after?”

I told her we couldn’t, that we had better get home, that it was cold outside, that I had miles to go before I slept.

The man beside me, a complete stranger, looked my way and whispered, “You take her. If you need the money, I’ll give it to you.” Turning, I noticed that there were tears in his eyes. “I’d give just about anything to take my daughter out for ice cream tonight,” he said, so quietly I had to strain to hear him. “She …she died of leukemia three years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

That night we enjoyed ice cream together, Rachael and I, across the street from the submarine shop. I extracted slow licks from a single scoop of vanilla. She decided on double scoops-Bubble Gum Rainbow and Peanut Butter. We bowed our heads in the little coffee shop. I prayed for the man who had lost his daughter, gave quiet thanks for life’s small blessings, and sat there wondering what would happen if we changed currencies. If we began measuring wealth in terms of friendship and time and life’s small pleasures.

“Did you know that I’m a millionaire?” I asked my daughter, when we lifted our heads.

Her eyes widened, she gulped, and almost lost her ice cream cone to the floor.

“Really?” She asked rather excitedly.

“Really,” I said. “You see, this time with you right now is worth about $10,000 to me. Lunch with Mom is worth the same. We’re rich, Rachael. Rich in memories, rich in relationships, rich in laughter.”

“So,” she said, looking past peanut butter ice cream, “if we’re so rich, can I have the two dollars for treats?”

Callaway, Phil. Who Put My Life on Fast-Forward? Eugene: Harvest House Publishers, 2002, p. 148-149. Www.philcallaway.com