THE THIRD REFILL
Three men sat in a Denny’s this morning.
No stage. No speeches. No banquet hall with polished silver and rehearsed applause.
Just breakfast.
Some of the largest moments in a life happen where the coffee is too hot to drink and the waitress calls everyone “hon”.
One of the three had spent more than thirty-five years serving people.
Albert Soto.
Steady. Dependable. The kind of man who becomes part of the foundation without ever asking to be noticed.
The insurance business measures policies.
God measures people.
Not by promotions. Not by titles. Not even by years.
By faithfulness.
Albert loves Houston. He loves the Astros and the Rockets. He loved the Oilers before they left and the Texans after they came. He loves his Longhorns and a California sunset.
He has watched a city lose a team and gain another. He knows what time does to a place.
This morning he wanted to talk about something else.
Time.
He told Chris and me that every one of us is living off an account we cannot see.
No app shows the balance. No statement arrives in the mail. No advisor can estimate what remains.
So spend it carefully, he said.
Invest first in your wife. Then your children. Love them before the calendar fills.
Choose your friends with care. There are only so many chairs around a table. There are only so many evenings left to fill them.
Do not mistake a full schedule for a full life.
The older I get, the more I believe wisdom sounds less like advice and more like a quiet reminder.
Family. Friends. Time given on purpose.
The things we claim matter most are the first things we surrender to meetings, deadlines, and one more email.
Albert spent a career taking care of members.
This morning he reminded two friends to take care of the people waiting at home.
Solomon wrote that two are better than one, because if either falls, the other can lift him up. Careers end. Friendship, tended well, is one of the quiet ways God carries a man home.
Thank you, Soto Express.
Your smile settled rooms. Your professionalism raised the standard. Your friendship made ordinary mornings better.
Somewhere between the Denver omelets and the third refill, you reminded us that the account that matters is not the one we have been saving.
It is the one we have been spending since the day we were born.
Thank you, Albert. You did not only leave a career behind. You left a way to live.
Boutwell Jones
redclaygospel.com
