time

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Funny how time seems so erratic, when it’s supposedly steady and predictable.

Lately, it speeds by in a blur, so that I can’t even recognize the hands on the clock. It’s exhausting trying to track them. Dizzying.

I keep thinking about that birthday I missed 30 days ago. I sat and watched it come and go so quickly, paralyzed by indecisiveness and a desire to do something exceptional. So I didn’t do anything at all.

There’s a check in my wallet someone gave me in August. I just can’t seem to get to the bank, even for money I need.

I bought two pairs of jeans on sale in April, intending to hem them. They are still tucked in my dresser with the tags still on.

I just turned 30 in May. In about six months, I am turning 32.

The pace at which time moves seems to force me to react to any and all situations by tossing water on the flames, instead of sitting back and roasting marshmallows. I wonder if there is anybody who knows how to do it the latter way.

Yet there are a few things that seem strangely oblivious to the passage of time. They are the things that I wish would keep pace with everything else.

A couple of injuries which seem undaunted by weeks and months. This cold, which has nestled itself into the corners of my lungs and refuses to come out. And an old heartbreak, which baffles me with its resiliency. Two and a half years later, it’s still waking up from hibernation at random and inopportune moments. Every time I am surprised. And a little annoyed.

All of this comes down to the control and independence I hold onto with white knuckles. I try to hand it over. I have before over and over. God has his hands out waiting. Yet for some reason, I figure it’s easier for me to take care of it all than to surrender it to the all-knowing, all-powerful Creator of the Universe, who has a better idea of the big picture than I do. When I stop and look at it like that, I’m shaken by my arrogance and distrust.

That realization scares me into tossing it over. And the clock resets, the second hand slowing down. The absence of the weight makes me totter briefly. I can breathe.

My human nature seems to be determined that it’s just the cycle starting again. But, if so, I know He will be there waiting the next time.

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