I can't even begin to count the number of times I think, "there isn't enough time!" or "I'll make time."
Isn't time tricky? It's the commodity we wish we had more of but if you had more time, what would you do with it?
If I had more time, I'd clean the baseboards. I'd refabricate a navy blue long sleeved T I bought at Gap for $1.97. I'd read the novel Beth loaned me. I'd go to bed before 11:30.
Do you hear what I'm saying? Even if I had more time, it wouldn't be enough. I'd fill it. Stuff it. Smother it with things that need doing and caught up on and finished.
It's mind-numbing. Even if I had more time, it wouldn't be enough.
How do you negotiate that? Do you just decide that you'll make better use of the time you do have?
"I won't waste time," I think. I'll multitask constantly; I'll cut down on phone conversations with my sister; I'll be diligent about starting laundry in the morning; I'll manage my time better.
But the more I hyper-manage and finagle my time, the emptier I feel. Why is that? How can a life filled to the brim with preschool and work and homework and diaper washing and soccer practice and ballet practice and church and date nights and ... feel so. darn. empty?
How does none of this stuff that I spend my time on fill me with a sense of accomplishment and peace? Why do I continue to rush and hurry onto the next task or event when I know it will not fulfill?
In One Thousand Gifts Ann Voskamp ponders how the busyness of your life leaves you with little time for the source of you life.
I'll plan date nights a year in advance. I'll plan meals for the next month. I'll schedule play dates two weeks out. I have a "to do" list for tomorrow.
Spending time with God is not on it.
Perhaps why I can't grasp time is because I've lost its purpose. In a panic to "live" life, I've lost the reason to live life. Jesus said He came so that we would have life and so we could live it to it's fullest (John 10:10). He came so we can have abundant life. Life to it's fullest. Not so I could rush. Not to hurry. But to savor and enjoy--a vapor of breath on a winter day.
When I look at my children they've aged over night. Surely this fair haired girl with the nose slightly turned up isn't the baby I nursed yesterday. She can't be. Can't be five.
I think of memories of her. Learning to walk. Reading books on her potty. Dropping a watermelon off the kitchen table and laughing as it burst all over the kitchen. I smile. A happy, sad smile.
It goes so quickly, time.
And I can't hold it. I can't get more.
Desperately I want to say, "STOP!" and just soak in the beauty of the moment. To not have that delightful girl get older but to hold her and read Charlotte's Web and to snuggle with Bear Bear under a quilt.
I want to just stop and enjoy the moment--this moment. This moment of tantrums and tears and snot and laughter through clenched teeth holding tight to pacifiers. This time is ours. But it will not last.
I wonder if I did just enjoy now--if I just savored these small things, these simple moments, if I wouldn't mind if time slipped right past me.
If wonder if I just wouldn't notice because time is no match for a life abundantly lived.
Thank you to Shell at Things I Can't Say for letting me Pour My Heart Out!