I have an uneasy relationship with time. I am not good at it nor with it. I think I would do better if its properties were fixed.
Why does something that is based in quantity shift so drastically relative to its quality? For instance, why can a pregnancy seem endless, while 18 years with that same child goes by in the blink of an eye? Why does the tenor of waiting change depending on what you are waiting for? And why does time speed by during our joyful eras but crawl in the midst of painful ones?
In discussing time, one of my friends theorizes that the reason we forget what our children were like just a short time ago is to anchor us in the moment. She feels that if we were cognizant of how fast everything is happening, we would always be glancing back at what was.
My middle son recently told me that he believes time seems to go by more quickly as we age because we have more memories, a richer stash of life experience to measure against. And I have noticed that the greater the change in my life, the slower the time. So the first year of my marriage, of each of our children's lives or of any new job has proceeded more deliberately than any other season in my life. Is this the secret to quelling time? Constant change?
To me, time and love have a lot in common in how we view them. We desire both, have anxiety about both and squander both.
But there is no limit to love; it can never be exhausted. Unlike time. Oh, I believe that we can manage and re-prioritize it. I feel that how we spend time along with the ways we love define who we are more than all other factors.
But in the end, the number of moments given to us is finite. As much as we might want, we cannot take one year off a life and donate it to another. We cannot gift wrap a few extra months so someone can regain past moments. Our lifetimes are inextricably bound, and no amount of money, fame or brilliance can change the past or the end time.
I have spent my life waiting. No matter how much I love my job, co-workers or students, I have wasted countless hours waiting for the weekend, a vacation, to get home — always to get home (as if my life begins when I pull into our driveway).
A few years ago, I took a course called, "The Art of Simply Being." It was a counseling course that stressed being present versus any agenda. The course prescribed just sharing space with the client and meeting them where they are, not where the counselor feels they should be. I was stunned by this foreign idea. The very notion stirred a revolution in my soul — a hunger to stop waiting and to just be where I was. In the quiet of this new living, I finally longed for God.
I have a vision of heaven. I don't know if it is accurate, but it comforts me when time's mystery overwhelms me. I envision a paradise where we are awash in what we crave most and what we can least control. I picture a garden where time is not of the essence, but where forever rules and there is no rush or yearning because there is an endless supply of seconds to spend with loved ones. I believe it's a place where we can be sure that love will never fail.
Until then, I will pray that God steadies me in whatever moment he gives, in whatever task, with whoever's precious heart he puts before me. I pray that I will press into what is with no distraction. For me, for now, "This is the day (the second, the hour) the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." (Psalm 118:24)
Mary White is from the Malone area. She and her husband have five children, eight cats, two dogs and three guinea pigs. She has had the privilege of working with children and families (her own and other people's) for more than 20 years.
