The Language Of Time
"Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life is but a breath.
Iv'e written before about time....He must want me to think about it yet, again.
The language of time fills my sentences and flexes my verbs:
one day, then, now, will, had.
But time is not the tyrant I make him out to be.
Come, look with me and see the rhythm of Time . . .
. . . patterned sunlight moving across the wall . . .
waves crashing on the shore . . .
. . .ocean waves inhaling and exhaling another . . .
. . .a bare branch, an unfurling leaf, autumn glory . . .
. . .youthful heart below a wrinkling face . . .
. . . first steps, first kiss, first times . . .
. . . last look, last words, last breath. . .
His gift of time to me is a metronome to set my days to the meter of His song.
Time is . . .
Soothing in its constancy.
Alluring in its rhythm.
Healing in its passing.
Wise in its perspective.
Heart breaking in its partings.
Delicate in its rounding seasons.
Breathtaking in its demands.
And cradled in eternity
Time is a cocoon . . .silken threads wound about us as we take form, but we will not be bound by time forever.
Rightly understood, time becomes His discipline for me
to live in the "here"
to live in the "now,"
to be prepared for the release into eternity.