Time

"When will I be 9 Mama?" Hannah asks. "I can't wait any longer!"

Life is fast these days. We talk about how fast the months and years go by, how fast the kids grow. We like life fast; fast food, fast Internet, fast service-no waiting. We want everything now.

I can be a lot like that. I want tomorrow so I can do this or that, I want the kids to go through one phase or another. I fly through my days not even realizing what I did, what I ate, what I thought, how I lived.

Little faces of my beloved children ask how much longer-to the restaurant, to the park, to their next birthday. Heavy sighs come, to long, can't wait any longer!

Looking back, some things came slowly. A little longer nap, a little less food, a few shallow breaths. Why so slow that we didn't notice?

Why are we so caught in the rush of life that we don't see the creeping of death?

Time goes to fast, and it needs to slow down. We don't know how much time we have left with him, a month, a year, a day? It won't be enough time. I am trying to stop ticking off the days in an endless blur of movement. How do I stop the moments to make them lasting memories? I focus on making the pictures of real life stay in my head.

Life has seasons, times, changes.

There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.


How do I learn to laugh and dance in a season of mourning? If I slow down, will I see the moments, the miracles in the flying of time? I need to catch the real living in the time of dying, the gradual decline. To really see the last things, the first times, the sweetness of love and laughter.

To savor the sacred moments of life.

God fills every day with holy, sacred moments. These are the real living, the things that will last through the declining.

Take My Hand

When I was a little girl, I would hold my Dad's hand for a lot of reasons. I would hold it when I was scared, when I was happy, so I wouldn't get lost and wander away. Sometimes Dad took my hand when he was mad at me to pull me in line and sometimes he would take it to show me something of great wonder. He would hold it to comfort me when I was sick or very sad. When Dad took my hand, I could relax, I could trust. There was power in his hand and a reassurance of love.

I like to watch my children hold my Dad's hand. I love to watch as he teaches them and leads them. I love to see the way they look up to him, most likely in the same way I looked at him when I was a child; complete trust. I love to see them hold their father's hand. They know who will protect and love them.

As I have grown, the reason I hold my Dad's hand has changed. Mostly I hold it when we are looking in wonder at his grandchildren. We hold hands when we pray and lately, we have held hands to comfort each other.

It amazes me how the life cycle seems to go. How parents become children again and children become the parents. How we comfort those who once comforted us, how we sit at bedsides praying through an illness much like my parents knelt at my bedside and prayed for me. Now my Dad looks to me for comfort and reassurance, now I feel the need to protect him.

As my hands become stronger, his hands are growing weaker.

The blessing in all of this is that long ago, both my Dad and I placed our hands into someone's hands that are far stronger and far more loving. We placed them in our Father God's hands. He is the ultimate father, the ultimate lover and protector. His word tells of this:

When my heart was grieved
and my spirit embittered...
you hold me by my right hand.

You guide me with your counsel,
and afterward you will take me into glory.
Whom have I in heaven but you?
And earth has nothing I desire besides you.
My flesh and my heart may fail,
but God is the strength of my heart
and my portion forever.

-Psalm 73:21, 23b-26

As we grow weaker, He grows ever stronger.