A TIME TO MUSE ABOUT TIME

“Teach us to count our days that we may gain a wise heart.” (Ps. 90:12—NRSV)

I've been thinking a lot about time, lately. Not CLOCK time, but CALENDAR time. Clock time gallops along, ticking merrily through the day, reminding us that there are things to accomplish, chores to be slogged through. Meals need to be whipped up and ingested, and a daily list has to be checked off (if you're one of those Persnickety List People) before sagging into bed at night, brain on the verge of flat-line.

We talk about "beating the clock, working against the clock, watching the clock, marking time, killing time," referring to daily deadlines or lack thereof. We have clocks, watches (at least older people do—younger ones just flip open their ever-at-hand, ubiquitous cell-phones), iPods, Blackberries, and other electronic devices. Our frantic, panting, scrabbling life styles require us to be ever glancing at time-pieces, yet they still don't tell us much about the Relentless March of Time. Mostly, we're grateful for that welcome sleep which marks the end of the clock-watching (unless one has issues with insomnia—"is there any possible way to turn the mind off at night?!")

The calendar, however, is another whole ball-game. Twelve measly pages flip through at warp-speed.

I just completed my sixty-fifth year of life. I am now older than my mother when she died. Granted, she was unconscionably and unacceptably young for her life to have ended. But, the Calendar continues to move forward, unimpeded by my protests and denial. I am 65. There is no avoiding or changing it.

Actually, heaven looks pretty appealing. Mom is there, and more and more people I’ve known and loved. And I’ll have a new body—unhampered by polio. Best of all, Jesus is there—the Focus and Culmination of time and eternity.

I am not brooding or morose—merely looking at the facts. I have probably 25 or so more years here on God's little planet—maybe a bit longer, since longevity is a family trait. I've accomplished a few things, but not nearly as many as I had thought by this stage.

Someone said once, "Most of what we do for God is inadvertent—'accidental'" It's sort of like on the way to doing something else we touched a life, spoke a word, or encouraged someone. There are times we even get to find out we did something right. Mostly, we'll probably only get to see our fruit when we get Over There. And then it won't matter—Jesus will get all the glory anyway.

So, as I see it, the most important thing is to stay faithful, plugging away for the long haul at whatever seems to be the task at hand that God puts in front of me; don't get carried away with any sort of feeling of self-importance; shooting stars burn out quickly—so shine steadily where I'm put. I don't want to end my days a sour old woman, and for that reason I plan on aging gracefully—a jolly old lady to the end—one that kids and cats like being around.

So I'm going to keep dyeing my hair red; wearing lipstick and blue eye shadow, watching my diet and pushing myself to do that dratted hour per day on the exercycle. Most important—I'm going to keep on loving Jesus, my husband, my family. And I’ll always reach out to people and maybe get to bless a few along the way.

Heaven will wait.