It's About Time

Time is a funny thing. You can't really make time, even though we say you can. You can't really save time, even though we all try hard and pretend we do with this technology or that convenience. You can't even really spend time, like it's some kind of bizarre currency from outer space, even though we obsess constantly about how we do so. No, time is finite and set and ever-moving, like a motorized exercise wheel in a mouse's cage where the wheel keeps moving no matter how fast or slow the little creature inside wants to go.

I keep trying to sit down to write for this blog, but time keeps slipping by. And I keep thinking: where did the time go since I left the hospital so many weeks ago? What happened? What have I been doing? Well, work, for one. Being a husband and father, for another. In short, as my cousin likes to spell out in slow, deliberate letters, L-I-F-E. Life has happened since I last wrote, and I look at it and marvel at how quickly time seems to pass. Of course, it hasn't passed any faster than those long interminable days of recovery in the hospital. It's just that when we get busy, we forget about the exercise wheel and then we're surprised, shocked even, when we notice that the wheel keeps moving.

When you live with a disability, even one you've had all your life and you've had lots of practice tackling everyday tasks, you realize that time for you is not like time for other people. I have to build in extra time in the morning because it takes me longer to get ready. I have to plan ahead at least a little bit when I do mundane tasks like packing up my bag at the end of the day or going to another part of the building for a meeting. Sometimes I get jealous of other people, "normal people," who don't need to think about time like I do. When I allow myself, I fantasize sometimes about not thinking about time at all and going about my day as oblivious about time as I am about the air I breathe. Oh, how I wish I didn't need to think so much about it, how I wish I could just be rather than think about being late.

And yet. And yet. If I really think about it, the steadiness of time passing is a gift. There is a rhythm and a pattern and a predictability to time that I don't appreciate as much as I should. Time gives space and shape to our lives that allows us to live in freedom, like a fence around a playground that abuts a busy highway. I need to start thanking God for time, maybe even especially when I don't seem to have enough of it. I need to start being grateful for the extra time it takes me in the morning; I need to appreciate more the freedom that the limits of time afford.

It may seem kind of funny to thank God for being behind on a project or late for a party. But that's the paradox of gifts that seem like burdens. If we can become more grateful for the burdens, then maybe--just maybe--they will wrap themselves in colorful paper and disguise themselves as gifts.