Grains of Time

 Have you ever experienced times in your life when a central theme seems to be screaming at you through a book you are reading, people you are interacting with or a topic being discussed, all in the span of a day or two? 

That happened to me a couple of weeks ago. Apparently I needed to be reminded about time. 

 

I and a friend of mine have a book club which consists of the whopping amount of... the two of us. We take turns selecting a book and send voice texts with our thoughts and the points we want to make as we read through the book. Our current book is one she had selected titled The Broken Way, by Ann Voskamp.

The Broken Way: A Daring Path Into the Abundant Life by Ann Voskamp

 At least twice a month I make the forty-five minute drive down to my parent's house to visit and help with whatever they need. The drive to their place is mostly long country roads, perfect for listening to music or, as in the case of this past Friday, an audiobook. As I listened to Ann Voskamp's illustration of using four cups of wheat kernels to show her daughter what seventy years of life looks like when measured out, it hit me how poignantly the illustration represents the shortness of life. A thought crept into my mind like a cat hiding under a bush, tense with anticipation as it watches an unsuspecting bird - "You're almost fifty-two. You don't have four cups of wheat kernels. You probably have only one left". It caught me by surprise, but I momentarily brushed it aside and continued listening. 

What I heard next caused me to hit the pause button and drive for the next few minutes in silence as I let her words filter through my mind, then coalesce with my present and future goals for life.  

"...It takes courage to listen with our whole heart to the tick of God's timing rather than march to the loud beat of our fears. Time can't dictate dreams or hijack hope or determine destination. It can't force us into living anything but what we believe. No matter what the hands of the clock say, underneath us all are the everlasting arms. And time's arms are too weak to rob any hope, steal any prayers, destroy any joy, or crush any purpose...".

 She continues by adding that time cannot heal our brokenness, only God can. While that is very true and not something to dismiss lightly, it was her prior words that struck deep into my heart. 

Time is not the thief of what I do or don't do with my life - my fears and excuses are the thieves. 

I soon arrived at my parent's house. My dad walked into the living room from the kitchen where he had been setting the table with paper plates and cups in anticipation of the Taco Bell I was bringing. Mom was sitting in her usual spot - against one corner of the living room couch with a pillow under her, another behind her and one beside her left side. She was hunched slightly forward, her gray hair short, thin and sticking straight out all over her head. She has been a fighter through twenty or so years of ongoing breast cancer diagnosis and now the latest - metastasis from her breast to bones, liver and brain. Thanks to radiation and on-going chemotherapy treatments, she is currently cancer free, but chemotherapy is an enemy to her body as well. 

She was tired that day and the entire time I was there, she spoke very little. Her energy is reserved for doctor appointments, going to the restroom, going to the kitchen to eat and sitting on the deck. There isn't much else she feels like doing.  

Lately she has been mentioning things she wishes she could have learned - playing a guitar, crocheting - and places she wishes she had traveled to and seen before cancer weakened her. I've no doubt there's a lot more regrets she hasn't mentioned. As I sat there in their living room, struggling to make conversation with my tired, worn-out parents, Ann Voskamp's words played over and over in the back of my mind. 

How much did fear and excuses keep mom from doing what she wanted to do with her life? I don't know. She doesn't say. Maybe because dad dominates the conversations so it's easier for her to sink back into the quiet...into the solitude of her thoughts.

I pulled out of their driveway and reminded myself again for the thousandth time that no matter what, I refuse to live a life of regret. The earlier years of my life may have been filled with a number of regrets, but my present life is overflowing with some goals accomplished,  a growing determination, the overwhelming blessing of a supportive, loving spouse, a close, open relationship with my grown children and time with my parents.

Instead of listening to more of the audiobook on my way back home, I played my Pandora playlist and, ironically, the first song to permeate the car was Five for Fighting's song "100 Years". 

I asked myself that night - what will I do with each kernel of wheat I have left? My answer?

I will plant each one and let my dream of writing that has been with me since high school, continue to grow and be more and more a part of my present and future self.

What are you doing, or will you do, with your kernels of wheat?

Five for Fighting - "100 Years"