In Time

With the arrival of my first grandson, I’ve found myself reflecting more than usual—on life, on change, and on the strange way time softens some edges while sharpening others. Thinking back to my own daughter, who, in my mind’s eye, will always be that little girl with wide eyes and an imagination that could spark a thousand novels, is now a mother and is bringing into the family the newest edition, baby Malaki.

The passage of time happens quickly. Is there any greater reminder than that of our own progeny, who reflect the constancy of just how fast life passes us by?

As for the rest of my children, this couldn’t have been brought into clearer focus than to have watched them fully transition from the playful frolicking and carefree life, to that of semi-brooding teenagers deep in the throes of contemplating their own identities, their surroundings, and a growing tribe of friends that seem to change as often as the Texas Fall.

Again, it brings into sharp focus the reality that the only constant we have in life is change.

I know I’m not the first, nor the best, to wax eloquently about this subject, but it always grounds me to reflect on it.

How quickly things change.

Growing up, I knew people from church and school who were raised in the same house, on the same street, with the same parents, who held the same steady job year after year. There was a sense of permanency in it that I always envied.

But now at fifty, with children and now a grandchild of my own, I know that sense of permanence was always an illusion. Life, or lack of a better term, reality, is pressing forward into the future one second at a time, never stopping, and no do-overs…and there is nothing we can do about it. Even those steady homes and families have drifted apart, homes sold (many times over by now), and those pillars of community and church have either aged out or passed into glory.

The truth is, in this fallen world, we age. With age, we gain weight, lose hair, collect wrinkles, and discover a whole new cornucopia of aches and pains. We find jobs, build families, watch our children grow into adulthood, and witness them either soar into their own futures or retreat into places we can’t fully understand. All the while, we slowly take the backseat and watch them try and take on the world they’ve inherited from us. It is as King Solomon once wrote, to everything there is a season (Eccl. 3)

We change careers, lose or gain spouses, add to the family, or subtract. And even in those fleeting moments when we feel like we’re standing still, the world around us moves at a relentless pace—faster and faster—until keeping up feels like its own special kind of exhaustion.

My own life has felt more like a roller coaster in one of those travelling carnivals—unexpected drops, sharp turns, and stretches where the track seemed to vanish beneath my feet…especially after graduating high school and joining the military. For all the travel and things I’ve done, still, deep down, I envied the idea of a world where things stayed the same, or at least changed slowly, naturally, without the constant upheaval of a carnie lifestyle.

Looking back now, I see that change has been the only true companion along the way. Some of it was seismic, some subtle—but change, nevertheless.

Change, then, is in a way, like your shadow, clearly distinguished looking back, and depending on where you’re standing concerning the sun, in front of you, showing you what is to come.

I suppose the preferred way to consider it all is as nostalgia. Like the way finding an old photograph can transport us to another time, when the world seemed pregnant with possibility. I see in my younger man’s face, a stranger—an optimistic, untested version of myself from a distant land that now exists only in the archives of my memory. Not that I’d ever attended, but I presume that’s part of the pull of class reunions. It’s not just wistfulness for reconnection, it’s the quiet hope that revisiting the past might let us resurrect some earlier version of ourselves, a small sip as it were from the fountain of youth. Maybe my melancholic streak is just a little louder today. But I can’t quite shake this feeling.

I wonder, sometimes, how much regret Adam carried with him as he looked back at his time in the Garden of Eden—retracing those steps, realizing the moment he left Eve alone long enough for that old Serpent to slip in and unravel the future of humanity.

My own sin and regret make me particularly long for the world to come. Where time is present, but more as novelty than as anything holding sway over our future lives. Wherein the Rapture changes our very nature, from mortal to immortal, and from corruptible to incorruptible, we will no longer be bound by the ravages of time, nor even the desires of our fallen natures, but will live in perfect harmony with our Creator, Jesus Christ, forever.

 And I heard a loud voice from heaven saying, “Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and He will dwell with them, and they shall be His people. God Himself will be with them and be their God. And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Revelation 21:3-4

But in the meantime, I’m old enough to know now that we only have the present. The past is gone, and tomorrow is not yet, so how do we capitalize on what we have today…what is right in front of us, to share the Gospel, to be salt and light in a dying world, and to be the men and women God has chosen us to be in these final days before the last final change occurs.W e are in the season of His return. But only a little longer, and this too shall pass. And for those longing for His return…

He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11