Time waits for....

 

That is the big question of the day:  Where did the time go?

We all moan about not having enough of time.  I used to tell my children that they had too much time on their hands if they were getting into fights.  

 

My husband always has big plans for projects he will do over the weekend, but on Sunday night, we look at each other and ask, “Where did the time go?”

It is not as though it slipped behind the bookcase, or joined the lost remote in the sofa cushions.  It certainly isn’t hiding with dirty tissues.  Time seems to run away from us, like a small child who has just discovered he can outrun his parents.

Time is a fire in which we all burn.

In “Star Trek: Generations” with Patrick Stewart as Captain Jean Luc Picard (sighJ), he is confronted by Dr. Tolian Soran, played by Malcolm McDowell, who says, “Time is the fire in which we all burn.”  Picard has just learned that his brother and nephew have perished in a fire, and this statement hits him rather brutally. 

Is Dr. Soran correct?  Is this the view that most people accept? 

 

I don’t believe, or can’t believe that it is. 

Time is the ticking of some form of clock, to be sure, but it is also an accumulation of life experiences, memories, events, and closely held loved ones.  Time is a steady revolution of the earth around the sun, a myriad of glorious sunrises and sunsets, the rushing of the foamy tides.  

 

Time is holding the hand of my husband on our wedding day, and still holding his hand when we are old. 

Jean Luc Picard, at the end of the movie when all action is said and done, concludes that time is much like an old friend who moves along slowly with us through our life time.  I really like that conclusion.  “Do not go gentle into that good night!  Rage, rage, against the dying of the light!”  as proposed by the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas is certainly an option.  

 

But, as for me, knowing that the closing of my eyes as a mortal being, and the opening of them to behold God for all eternity, I prefer that measurement of time.

 

  

My Hand in Hers

Source

One of the best and heart breaking journals of facing a death of a parent has been written by a fellow blogger, Sandra Tyler at her site, A Writer Weaves a Tale.

In the last years of her beloved mother's life, Sandra keeps a diary in  form of her blog.  Step by step, she writes how her talented mother loses the battle to retain her memories and talent.  What is never doubted, her mother loved Sandra with a fierceness that only a mother can hold.**

My husband John's mother, Dorothy Kane recently died.  It was the type of death she had prayed she would have:  in bed, sleeping and drifting away.

Many of my blogger friends thought that this was my mother who had just died. I so appreciated the sympathy comments on that blog.  Comforting words lift the heart and spirit.  

For 43+ years, Dorothy Kane HAS been a mother to me. I called her "Mom" from the day of my marriage to her oldest son, John. In the last few years of her life, she told me frequently "You weren't born as one of my children, but you are my daughter."

God bless all who have had to let go of hands who held yours  all your life.

**Sandra Tyler's credentials are astounding.  She had written two books, Blue Glass and After Lydia.  Please visit her site!