Friday, November 22, 2013

A Case for Making Time

I know everyone says it, so much that it's a cliche, so much that it's almost not worth saying, but...

A few photos from my recent trip up the coast...

I cannot believe that we're already at the end of November.

It's an odd thing to be arriving at days that had once seemed so far in the future: meetings that I scheduled months ago that are suddenly here, weddings and events and parties that had once been months away are now next week, tomorrow, past. And meanwhile, autumn has been fading outside my office window, and I've had precious little time to acknowledge its comings and goings.

This is probably the hardest part of professional life, for me. I can handle the routine, the personalities, and the deadlines. The worst part is not being out. Sunlight and wind, silence and dirt, shadows and pools and stones - these are things that deserve to be noticed, not merely as a mutable background setting to the Thing of the Moment, but as the thing of the moment itself.


I often wonder if (or rather, notice that) I am so busy in my getting-things-done that I fail to see the real life, the quiet, eternal, steady life that happens all around me. I am worried about meeting production schedules and changing the oil in my car and deciding whether to make or buy lunch tomorrow. The trees are worried about nothing, and they turn from green to gold precisely when they're meant to, regardless of my witness. And I wonder, which of us has the more important schedule? Which is more worthy of deference and notice - the routine that changes with quarterly budgets? Or the unbroken cycle that has continued at its steady, measured rotation since God first spun it into place?


It's in this light of consideration that one can see the case for making time. For time spent in the outside is never lost. The issues of the everyday will always sting. Injuries will always bite, and the pressures of "making it all happen" will always weigh heavily. How important is all of it, anyway? The trees will still turn golden precisely when they mean to, and the real world beats peacefully, steadily on.

"Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?...But seek His kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well." - Luke 12:24-26, 31
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