Sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of our eyes.

Today started like that.  Almost.

Early this morning, I walked away from my front door and headed to the coffee shop. I walked against a brisk wind, it having changed in the last day or two, promising to blow in a cold front soon and perhaps even to blow a few of the leaves from the trees.

Winter will soon be here.  But, that isn’t what I came here to talk about, is it?

Today, I’m thinking about time—about eternity.  And, I may actually write about those things before I finish this.  I may.

I walked the half mile to the coffee shop at a brisk pace, acting as if I were the only human on an errand this morning.  It’s easy to think so.

I nearly didn’t see them.  The people, I mean.  I’m not saying I wouldn’t have known they were there.  I simply mean, I almost didn’t see them.  Really see them.

People walk past me every day.  Even here, in the South, where we wave at complete strangers and holler our loud greetings across the yard to our neighbors, it’s becoming more difficult to get a response from folks.

Perhaps, they are on a mission, as am I.  Somehow, deep in thought, they don’t want to encourage interaction, hoping to keep the train (of thought) a non-stop ride all the way to the terminal.

Still, I usually interrupt them anyway, with a quick Good morning or Hey! How’s it going? coming to my lips as I pass.

At the end of my little cul-de-sac, the young lady headed for classes at the university seemed to accelerate to a speedwalk as she saw my trajectory would take me onto the sidewalk just as she began to cross the intersection.  She said nothing in reply to my words of greeting.  I wasn’t surprised.  I fit the description of a strange man to a tee, and she was well advised to avoid any interaction.

Up the street under the hickory trees, the young man walking his dog replied in a friendly manner, his eastern accent—possibly Indian, or Pakistani— reminding me that our little town has become a melting pot (not to its detriment at all).

The middle-aged jogger, arms pumping and graying ponytail dodging left and right behind her as she ran, didn’t even pause in her pursuit of youth to return my greeting. Perhaps, there was no extra breath to waste, as she chased her goal.

The last person I saw before I reached my destination was an older lady, her hoodie zipped up and pulled over her head against the cool autumn morning air.  She shoved a bulky metal walker ahead of her on the sidewalk, her progress slow and not all that steady.  As I called out a cheerful greeting, a smile appeared crookedly on her face.

She called out her own chipper greeting in reply to mine, the words slightly slurred. I recognized the impairments left behind by a stroke and felt sympathy for the lady.  But, more than that, I was impressed by her determination to overcome the damage caused by the malady.

Like the nineteenth-century philosopher, Henry David Thoreau, I have at times declared—at least internally—that “most men lead lives of quiet desperation,” but I learn repeatedly that most folks actually lead full, rich lives, facing their challenges and loving the people God has given them to share life with.

Mr. Thoreau is also the fellow who made the following statement:

“As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.”

Did I say I wanted to talk about time today?

I saw these folks along my route, people from different places, lifestyles, and eras.  They all are investing in the present.  Of course, by the time this is ready to be read, their activities will be in the past, but I observed them in the moment they occurred.

Young to old, they were making investments in their future.

A friend of mine, a wonderful lady whom I admire, made a comment earlier this week that started me thinking about time.

“Time is a thief.”

Her children are reaching the end of their years at home, ready to fly the protective nest, and she is a little melancholy about it.  I haven’t talked with her about her feelings, except to ask how her offspring are doing in their various pursuits.  She is proud of what they’re accomplishing—overjoyed they are doing what she raised them to do.  They are becoming the caring, honest human beings she and her husband have invested their lives to encourage.

And yet, she says time steals. I won’t argue with her.

I won’t.  But somehow, I think we may be the thieves.  I’m not sure we actually kill time as Thoreau suggests, but we can certainly be wasteful, squandering opportunity after opportunity as we egress from eternity past into eternity future.

Time itself may seem to take people and things from us, but it only seems so.  And, it leaves behind wonderful gifts.

Knowledge.  Wisdom,  Memories.

Ultimately, it offers perhaps the most valuable of all gifts as we journey through its domain; the gift of opportunity.

Tomorrow.  Next week. Next year.

All opportunities.  Bright.  Untouched.

Waiting for you.  And me.

If, like me, you believe in the love and guidance of a Creator who saw us before He spoke the worlds into existence, you will know that time was part of the original blueprint.  A gift to all of creation.

And, every moment, known to Him already.

The Psalmist put it this way:  My times are in Your hand. (Psalm 31:15a, NKJV)

If you’re still breathing, time is on your side.  It is.

Seize the day.  Do it gently.

We wouldn’t want to injure it, would we?

 

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, today is a gift.
(Eleanor Roosevelt)

Make the most of every opportunity in these evil days.  Don’t act thoughtlessly, but understand what the Lord wants you to do.
(Ephesians 5:17, NLT)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2023. All Rights Reserved.