Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light day, and the darkness He called night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day. Gen 1:3-5
Time, this river that always flows beyond us, that we can never seem to catch or hold onto unless we simply flow in its current, savor the gifts of moments it gives. When God separated the first light from dark, time burst forth out of eternity. The first day. And it was good.
A procession of days hidden in Him lead us back into the womb of eternity time was born from.
How is it then that so often I treat time like the enemy, an adversary to be beaten into submission, an opponent to compete with, win over? Where did I learn that from?
My kids don’t seem to bother much with time. Not the way I do at least.
We hung that funny looking metal thing to help us tell time for our family and bring a semblance of routine to our day. 2 gongs wake up, 1 gong time to bathe and get ready from chores, 3 gongs: line up by house, it’s time to eat! Any question as which signal is most quickly answered? Some days it is the only way to tell time is passing here other than the coming and leaving of the light.
I learn so much from them.
Every year the tree in my front yard sheds her leaves just before the dry. They fall a golden rain to the ground, leaving her bare, exposed to the burning sun and months with out water.
She looks dead, lifeless, beyond hope for resurrection, a thing to be cut down and thrown into the fire. But deep inside her, life waits, sleeps long and still hidden from my gaze.
Every year from lifeless looking branches red bottle brush flowers erupt unexpectantly exploding, something from nothing. A picture of creation in microcosm.
I know when I see this sudden resurrection and my tree flames red, the rains are almost here. Change is in the air. Soon the dry will give way to wet and the planting and growing and eating can begin!
It is funny how I never noticed seasons before beyond what was displayed in malls and shop windows. Watching time unfold, ebbing and flowing into eternity, each season with such a beauty waiting to be recognized and embraced is teaching me about finding a rhythm of rest. Time is not my enemy. It is rushing through the moments it gives so graciously to me as His gifts that steals and wearies.
What sign posts of God’s seasons has He put all around you? What bush is flaming before you right now calling forth resurrection?
(this post is linked in to a broader community talking about these things)