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 Against the Clock

Time has limitations. Those limitations mean we have to decide between many good things because there isn’t time to do all we wish. Perhaps because I’m getting older, I now consider time quite precious and want to make the most of it. I am not as careless of time as I used to be. I wish I had not always been so cavalier about it, having the fantasy that there was an endless supply out in front of me to use as I wish. I’m glad I do not have an account of the exact number of hours I have wasted.

Most of us live under a lot of time pressures and crunches, deadlines and appointments. We view time as a monster waiting to consume us, devouring our freedom, pressing in on all sides. Just last evening I spent some time with some ladies and I should have counted, but am quite sure that someone said something about “not having enough time” or “I ran out of time” at least every ten minutes.

It’s not just about how to use the time, what to do with time, but the pressure of time that wears us down. We’re always running out of time, don’t have enough time, feel like we’re wasting time. Beating the clock is a losing battle. Time is relentless, marches on whether we’re ready or not. We find ourselves running to keep up and always feel shortchanged. Even in the situations where time drags, it is our enemy. Am I exaggerating to say we tend to view time as an enemy? We can’t see it, but it is always haunting our days. Time to go.

Even this blog deadline has come sooner than I was prepared for (which you probably can tell by my sloppy writing,. I confess I do resent the clock and its constant pushing and pulling at me. 

Why do we still find ourselves sometimes lamenting, “where did the time go?” We would be happy if it would just leave us alone. From the alarms in the morning we enter a day full of deadlines and scheduled appointments. Even lunch relentlessly looms ahead just after we have cleaned up from breakfast and gotten part way through lessons. (Why is it that those children require regular feeding?)

The truth is that time does not have to be an enemy. Lots of other restricting things in life we don’t resent and even appreciate. Think of driving if there were no stoplights, speed limits, guard rails. Those restrictions can be annoying, but think of the chaos we would suffer without them. Restrictions like this save us, keep us from destruction. Is it possible that time is a gift, too, that is also meant to do us good? Is it possible that time should be our servant, not our master, our helper, a guide?

Just imagine the trouble that would ensue if there were no time—especially for rest. Surely we would destroy ourselves in a week. If we didn’t set times to have meetings or meals we would lose out in relationships and fuel for our bodies. A world without regular day and night, seasons, and annual markers of other kinds would blur into a mass of shapeless days and perhaps give us the sense that we are immortal or infinite.

Surely God has marked our days for a reason. Even the first chapter of the Bible repeats and repeats, “and there was morning and there was evening.” The Preacher of Ecclesiastes, with all his bemoaning and lamenting of the futility of days, concludes that there is a time for everything under heaven. Even more, he is the one who reminds us that God makes everything beautiful in its time–in its time, not another time, in just the right time.

Charlotte Mason said we should view time like money. It is to be valued, carefully spent, and invested in worthwhile purposes. This brings us back to where we were last month, having to make decisions between many good things and realizing that we are not God, cannot accomplish everything, and do not have enough time. We never will. This is the will of God and a very good thing for us. 

We do not know the span of our life. I have lost many friends who were at the beginning or middle of raising their children. They didn’t know this at the beginning, a few of them didn’t know it the day before it ended. We dare not take future hours for granted.

Surely Jesus, with multitudes demanding his attention, needs pressing in on every side, as the Son of Man was unable to touch everyone, had to pass up many needy pleas for attention. His purpose was clear, he went steadily on toward Jerusalem, and often reminded his disciples when they were anxious to get on with what was next that “My hour has not yet come.” When it was the hour, he ignored all else but moving toward Calvary, his purpose. At the exact hour God had purposed, he knew, and said, “It is finished.” There were no more hours to spend for living among us as we live.

If God is Maker of heaven and earth, made us in his image, made all things, the world and everything in it, surely he is master of time. The old hymn Crown Him With Many Crowns praises him as the Potentate of time. He is the ruler of the hours.

Thus the Psalmist said, “My times are in your hands…” They are very capable hands. They hold us and all our hours together. Time is his business and how we spend ours is his business too. Let us be about his business and view the next hour as a gift in which we have 60 minutes to do the work he has given us to do—and nothing more. Are we demanding more of ourselves than he has asked us to do? Do we welcome what is next as a gift from him? Do we rely on his strength to accomplish the task before us? 

When we move through our days knowing they have been appointed for us by a loving and strong Father, we can do each thing at the appointed time, including saying no, including taking time out to serve others, including laying our head down at night knowing that we had a friend in the midst of the hours. 

Time is truly something to be thankful for and not resent. Let us be satisfied with the time that has been given us and not be greedy for more. We can rest at the end of the day knowing that the way we spent the hours was the best way, the right amount, and there will be enough time tomorrow for what tomorrow brings.

“Do not worry about tomorrow,” Jesus said. He will still be there. Our times truly are in his hands.

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