I was rummaging around the kitchen this afternoon looking for something to eat for lunch. We had bread and lunchmeat, but the stay at home mom has the luxury of eating vastly more interesting lunches than what used to fit in my brown bag for lunch at school.
I found a half-full bag of ravioli in the freezer. (Honestly I don’t remember eating the other half– so there is no telling how old those suckers were!) I thought ravioli sounded better than processed turkey so I read the directions. Boil for 16 to 18 minutes?! Here in the fast food country I call home, I expect things to get done quickly. Very quickly. Sixteen minutes for lunch is not fast enough.
Tonight, as I rocked and fed my daughter before bed, I noticed how far her legs dangle over the edge of my lap. I found myself wishing time with her would slow down. It’s hard to believe I’ve been her mommy for six whole months. I watch her squirming around on the floor trying desparately to figure out how to crawl and remember when she used to lay so quietly in my lap or over my shoulder as a newborn. She used to eat and eat and now she’s too busy to sit still and nurse for longer than a few minutes– where’s the time going?
Isn’t it funny how contradictory my thoughts about time were yesterday?
I’ve heard it said that “All we have is time…” how true and how untrue. In one respect I can bless others with my time, by giving and serving when I’m needed, but I’m not in control over my own time. God is the giver of time, and in Psalm 139:16 the psalmist writes (of the Lord),
God already knows how much time I have, He’s blessed me with it. Who am I to wish it away or wish it would slow down?
My culminating thought on time came as I was thinking about a girl I’ve met a few times. She was in a car wreck on Sunday and is suffering from severe injuries in a hospital ICU room, and according to her doctors, probably will not wake up. This is a girl who has been running full-speed ahead from the Lord and from people who care about her at our church. I have only met her twice in two years. But God drew her heart to church on Sunday morning right before her accident. She was there that morning, and with all my heart I pray that in that last bit of time she had, she conciously got her heart right with the Lord.
Because at the end of time, that’s what really matters.