In parenting, as in judging, the days are long, but the years

Hear the wisdom of Don Willett, who observed with clarity the rhythm of time: “In parenting, as in judging, the days are long, but the years are short.” This is a truth wrapped in paradox, a statement that captures both the weight and the swiftness of life. For in the work of parenting, the hours stretch endlessly, filled with cries, chores, discipline, and weariness. Yet when one looks back, the years appear as fleeting as a bird’s shadow across the earth. This is the mystery of time as lived by those who carry the responsibilities of guiding others—whether raising children or rendering judgment over men.

The long days of parenting are known to every mother and father. Each day demands patience and sacrifice, from morning to night. The child’s needs are unrelenting, and the parent feels the burden of ceaseless care. In the courtroom, too, a judge faces long hours of deliberation, details upon details, decisions heavy with consequence. Both parent and judge labor in tasks that seem without end, their strength stretched thin, their resolve tested by repetition and fatigue. Yet this is the nature of true responsibility: to endure the long day, knowing that its labors are necessary for the shaping of a just and loving future.

But behold the other side of Willett’s saying: the short years. For while the days feel endless, the years vanish with terrifying speed. A child is once cradled in arms, then suddenly walking, speaking, questioning, becoming their own person. The parent wonders where the time has gone, how infancy slipped into adolescence, how adolescence became adulthood. The same truth holds for the judge: one case follows another, and before long, a career has passed, judgments rendered, lives shaped, and years gone like mist. Thus, Willett’s words remind us that life is both endless in its toil and fleeting in its passage.

History gives us an image of this truth in the story of Marcus Aurelius, emperor and philosopher. In his Meditations, he wrote often of time’s swiftness, urging himself to act justly each day, for life would soon be over. He, too, bore long days of ruling, of hearing disputes, of caring for his empire. Yet when he looked back, he saw how swiftly the years had flown, how fleeting was even the reign of an emperor. His wisdom mirrors Willett’s: whether emperor, judge, or parent, the long day becomes the short year, and only what is done with virtue and love endures.

The heart of Willett’s teaching is this: do not be deceived by the length of the day, nor by the swiftness of the year. Both truths must be held at once. In the day, endure with patience, for its hardships are part of your calling. In the year, be mindful of time’s brevity, for the child will not remain small, nor will opportunities to teach and love last forever. The parent and the judge alike must act with diligence, never postponing what matters most, for the days are weary, but the years are few.

The lesson is clear: cherish the moment while bearing the burden. When the day feels long, remind yourself that it will soon be a memory. When the years feel short, remember that every day holds meaning, if only you are present. Speak words of kindness to your children, for soon they will be grown. Render judgments with fairness, for soon your legacy will be sealed. To live wisely is to honor both the grind of the present and the flight of time.

Therefore, let all who hear these words take action: do not waste the long day, and do not forget the shortness of the year. Be patient in your labors, for they are shaping something eternal. Be attentive in your love, for it will not always be asked of you. And above all, let your presence be full, so that when the years have vanished, you will not mourn what was left undone.

Thus Don Willett’s words, simple yet profound, echo the wisdom of the ancients: that life is both heavy and fleeting, burdensome and precious. The days are long, the years are short—so let each moment be borne with patience and cherished with love, for in this balance lies the fullness of the human calling.