time stands still, time flies by; I behold both but am powerless to alter either —- I cannot speed her up, I cannot slow her down though I desire to do both, depending on the circumstance;
time takes from me those I love, she marches on, leaving the form of her footprints on my face and hollows in the holes of my heart, the places where the glaciers form, frozen in time, unaware that she has moved on or just unwilling to acknowledge her passing
time is the keeper of my moments, the stealer of my days; she stores up my memories for me, all the while running out on me —- she drags on or slips away unnoticed, as suits her mood in the moment, or is it my mood in that moment she gives deference to?
I race against time constantly, calling her by her more common name, the clock; lamenting to no one in particular and to everyone I meet, that there is not enough of her, enough to meet my needs, enough to satisfy that which I seek
she is a formidable adversary, time — I must find a way to make her my ally, to win her over, that she might serve me, rather than I serving her —- “serving time” with all that it implies, there are so many kinds of prison . . .
like the tide, time takes what she will, in return leaves unexpected gifts behind for me to discover, while she marches on —- to return in predictable pattern, she scours the contours of my very being with each ebb and flow of her tide, moment by moment, with her “sands “, and like the pebbles on the beach, once rough, now smooth and beautiful, time’s handiwork displayed for anyone who would take notice, my rough edges are disappearing as time travels on taking me with her whether I wish to go or not . . .
time takes my youth, leaves me wisdom in her wake; she brings me a new perspective, a view I have not seen before, a view not possible to behold until time takes me there and gives me new eyes with which to view what she would show; another of her secret gifts, “time will tell” we say, and we are more right than we know, time shares her secrets with me when she is ready, on her own timetable and no one else’s, “in due time” as we are so fond of saying —
time marches to her own drummer, I have my own drummer too, we do not seem to be in sync, time and I; I will the sunset to linger longer, I pray the storm passes quickly —— neither heed my powerless command, time is the sovereign that they serve, their ticking taskmaster, turning moments into days, days into months, months into years, years into lifetimes, lifetimes into the history that marks our past and shapes our future.
Time takes her toll and gives her gifts; her gift of hindsight comes wrapped in the wisdom gained simply by surviving her test, we call it “the test of time.” It’s one we all take, no exceptions. When time takes those I love she leaves rich memory behind to keep me company in their place. She is not altogether cruel.
time will cease to be one day, there will be no clocks on heaven’s walls, no expiration dates, no deadlines, no due dates, . . . eternity will swallow her up into timelessness; time will not run out on me in heaven, she will not be in short supply — eternity is full of time — timeful, if you will; infinite, unending time, so filled up and overflowing with time as to be timeless.
In eternity I will rest from time, she will no longer determine the measure of my days
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)
“All the days ordained for me were written in Your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:16)
“I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.” (Revelation 22:13)
“Before the mountains were born or You brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting You are God. . . . For a thousand years in Your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night.” (Psalm 90:2,4)
sincerely, Grace Day