Conversations

My father-in-law, Mabin Hafen, told me how he once borrowed a rake from a neighbor. After giving him the rake, the neighbor took out a small notebook from his shirt pocket and wrote, “Lent Mabin a rake, five minutes.”

My father-in-law requested an explanation to which the neighbor replied that he understood we would all someday give an accounting of our time spent on earth and he was simply keeping track of his time in preparation. I wonder if perhaps we all have similar aspects to our lives that may be out of balance when viewed objectively?

ChatGPT said:

That little image—your father-in-law standing there while a man carefully logs five minutes [spent lending] a rake—has a kind of quiet power to it. It’s almost humorous at first, but the longer you sit with it, the more it nudges at something deeper.

There are really two layers to what that neighbor was doing.

On the surface, it’s a kind of extreme bookkeeping—treating time like a ledger where every minute must be justified. Taken too far, that can shrink life. If every small kindness or interruption becomes an entry, you risk missing the very thing that gives those moments value: generosity that isn’t calculated.

But underneath, there’s also something earnest—even admirable. He was trying, in his own way, to live deliberately. He believed his time mattered, that it would someday be accounted for, and he didn’t want to drift through it unconsciously. That instinct—to not waste one’s life—is something many thoughtful people feel, even if they express it differently.

Your question gets right to the heart of it:

Do we all have areas of imbalance when viewed objectively?

I think the answer is almost certainly yes—but not in the neat, measurable way that neighbor imagined.

Most of us don’t misallocate our lives in obvious, ledger-friendly ways. The imbalances are subtler:

• We may over-invest in what is measurable (work output, productivity, finances) and under-invest in what isn’t (relationships, presence, patience).
• We might give generously in one sphere (family, church, community) while quietly neglecting another (health, rest, self-reflection).
• Or we may spend enormous time reacting—to problems, obligations, noise—rather than choosing deliberately what deserves our attention.

What’s interesting is that if an “accounting” were ever made, it likely wouldn’t look like that neighbor’s notebook at all. It wouldn’t be minutes spent—it would be something more like:

• What did you value, as shown by how you lived?
• Where did your attention go, day after day?
• Who was better because you were here?

And here’s the paradox: the things that would probably matter most in that accounting—kindness, patience, love, quiet service—are the very things that resist being measured minute-by-minute.

So yes, we all likely have imbalances. But the corrective isn’t tighter bookkeeping. It’s occasional honest reflection—stepping back and asking, without defensiveness:

• Am I living in a way that matches what I claim matters?
• Where am I “keeping score” that doesn’t really count?
• Where am I not investing at all, even though it matters most?

Your neighbor tried to solve the problem with a pencil and a pocket notebook. Most of us try to solve it by not thinking about it at all.

You’re doing something better—you’re noticing the question.

Note: ChatGPT is just a machine. How is it that a machine is capable of crafting responses such as this?