Wednesday, July 27, 2011
When my children were little, time was not my friend. The clock was always ticking in my head, sometimes a whisper but other times a bomb, and I was aware of its control over my days. The early morning alarms for school and work, interrupting LaurenChristiCarlisleMichelleCharlotte deep in slumber to eatbreakfastgetdressedbrushteethgetbackpackcatchbus, or the tick-tock whiplash of rushing to doctordentist or even Bible study. I remember once admonishing my friends for being late to Protestant Women of the Chapel. Who in the hell did I think I was?
Time was a control freak and a thief. Time whipped me about, fraying my nerves and eating my peace. One of the things I loved about breastfeeding was the way we rose in the middle of the night, oblivious to time because I was so tired, but grateful for the stolen moments given to us when the rest of the house slept. It was our time to get to know each other, and I treasured it.
Even birthday parties were driven by time--Christi running to the door to greet her friends hit her head on the door frame and suffered a concussion. Only 4 years old, but I was teaching her to hurry. Time beat me up when I was a young mother. Time was relentless and unstoppable, consuming daysweeksmonthsyears and I was at a loss to figure out where it went.
I remember the painful agonizing passage of time, waiting for teenagers to come in the door, meeting or not meeting curfew, and the welcome or angry arms that greeted them. Time represented benchmarks-- kindergarten, middle school, high school, college.
Time screamed at me when Bo died, the past and the future wailing.
But today time has a different place. It is a gift, a treasure. I have this moment I am in right now, the moments in front of me. What will I do with this moment? How will it count? Will I waste time or squander it? Will I notice it? Will I make it matter- this moment? This gift?
I have choices...time is mine and I am His.