What is the Speed of Time?

The first 20 years of life crept along.  Before my memory, I am told my ambition was to be as tall as the handle on the refrigerator door.  Ever so slowly, I grew and attained that height. 

I do remember that I thought the day would never come when I could read well enough to read the Sunday comics to myself and not rely on my somewhat crazy uncles on Sunday afternoons at Grandma’s house.  One could never be sure they weren’t editing as they read.

I wanted time to stop so that I didn’t have to walk across the stage in front of all those people to graduate from sixth grade.  I could feel it coming ever so slowly but surely.  It turns out, that I could live through that intimidation.

The pain of mid-teens seemed never-ending.  I believed that to be the Dark Ages of my life.  Who am I?  What am I supposed to be doing with my life that stretches out in front of me?  How will I find purpose and meaning?  But eventually, I emerged with hope for the time ahead, because of my faith in a loving God.

I don’t know if the six years I spent getting my education after high school crept or sped.  In retrospect, they are the blink of an eye, but at the time, they were packed full of life-defining experiences.  I remember times when I counted down the hours left in my shift caring for some extremely ill and difficult patient.  I knew that if I could reach the end of my eight hours, the impossible situation was someone else’s responsibility.  Agony and ecstasy shaped me and formed life-long bonds with friends as we suffered or rejoiced together.

I walked down the aisle with my Dad and back up it with my husband over 50 years ago.  On that day, the notion of 50 years together was exciting but not really possible to comprehend.  We were pledging to grow old together, but so much life was ahead before we reached old age.

Ha!  Fifty years!  Is that a long time or is that the blink of an eye?  Looking back, I can barely wrap my head around all the things we have experienced together….wonderful times, horrible times, mundane times. 

Today is the last day of 2019.  I am 74.  Do I have 20 more years?  If so, will they edge forward at a snail’s pace or shoot past like an accelerating locomotive?  Twenty years seems like a long, long time when one is a child.  Now, twenty years seems like nothing…a wisp of smoke.  Here I am asking some of the same questions as in my mid-teens.  Who am I now? What am I supposed to be doing?  This time, however, it doesn’t feel like the Dark Ages of my life.  I have lived through all those strange and sometimes frightening eras.  I have learned that God has been faithful, and I believe that will continue…whether I have 20 years left or 20 months or 20 days or 20 minutes.  I know sometimes life will pass slowly and sometimes rapidly, but I know it only goes in one direction for mortal man.  I am OK with that!

Welcome, 2020.

The Ever-Rolling Stream

The hymn Our God, Our Help by Isaac Watts includes the words “Time like an ever-rolling stream, bears all its sons away.”  When one lives in a retirement community with 2500 residents, the ever-rolling stream becomes very obvious.  It is a rare day when we don’t see both an ambulance and a moving van.

Ambulances arrive lights flashing, as people fall or have medical events.  A man in front of us at the Christmas Eve service became ill and was helped out and into a waiting ambulance.  In the past ten days, a resident of our building had a fall resulting in broken bones and a brief hospitalization for surgery. 

As the inevitable deterioration occurs, residents move to an increased level of care…assisted living or skilled nursing.  Their independent living apartment becomes empty.  Walking to the pool each day, I always see some apartment being renovated for the next occupant.  Soon a moving van arrives and another person or couple jumps into the same stream we are traveling.  The pictures of new residents in our building are posted in our elevator with an encouragement to welcome them.

None of us knows how long we will be floating in the stream before we plunge over a waterfall.  Change can happen abruptly.  This morning, as my husband got out of bed, he had a cramp in his leg and tumbled to the floor.  He wasn’t hurt, but the sound of the splat awakened me with a momentary panic that he might be.  I have the recurring thought that everything can change in an instant.

For others, change creeps up gradually as their memory of past events disappears.  I watch with admiration and gratitude as I see a spouse compensating for their partner’s decline, filling in the blanks for the one they love.  The stream flows on and hits inescapable whirlpools of memories lost or swirling in never-ending loops.

I suppose this could be a depressing place, but for most here that does not seem to be the case.  The healthy engage in activities of every type.  Sometimes they join an activity that has been of life-long interest, but it isn’t unusual to see folks take up something new with enthusiasm.  Those relegated to the sidelines cheer participants on. 

Because many here believe that this world is only our temporary home, they look forward to the end of life with joyful anticipation.  I don’t know how old Isaac Watts was when he penned the words, but the last stanza of his poem looks forward.

O God, our Help in ages past, our Hope for years to come,

Be Thou our Guide while life shall last, and our eternal home.

At the end of the stream is an eternal home.  There may be cataracts, whirlpools and rapids between us and that home, but as we trust Christ as Savior, we are filled with hope for what awaits.

Don't Celebrate in Ignorance

Christmas comes, and we fill the world with lights.  They sparkle and twinkle on trees, but also on bushes and fences and the eaves of homes everywhere.  People gather outside of hospitals with lights to let the children inside know they are not forgotten.

Joyful music rings.   Some radio stations play Christmas music non-stop.  The songs may be ridiculous like Grandma getting run over by reindeer, but interspersed is that which is uplifting.  Flash mobs delight mall shoppers with soaring harmony, and carolers bring joy to shut-ins even if the singing is off key.

The kitchen is filled with delightful aromas.  Cookies in all shapes and flavors fill special plates.  Meats are roasted.  Popcorn is strung.  Fudge melts in the mouth.  Many families celebrate with unique foods fixed only at this time of year.

We give gifts.  Children are up at 4 AM because anticipation is so great, that they just can’t sleep.  Young lovers exchange presents with special significance to them.  Old lovers may have stopped giving gifts, because as the years pass, nothing is as meaningful as having each other.

Nearly everyone participates in the Christmas festivities, but many do so in ignorance.  The lights, the music, the food and the gifts…we would have none of these with Christ.  They are but symbols of the reality that not everyone can see.  Without His coming, all the trappings of Christmas are hollow.

Christmas is celebrated because…

            Christ is the light of the world.

            His birth was announced with angelic song.

            He is the bread of life.

            He is the greatest of gifts!

Don’t celebrate in ignorance.

Unholy Night

Chaotic night, unholy night,

Darkness snuffs out every light,

Painful cries from mother and child,

Evil rules rampant and wild,

We long for conflict to cease,

In agony, we cry for peace.

Chaotic night, unholy night,

All earth quakes at the sight,

Profanity streams around us each day,

Each man follows his own sinful way,

The fabric of life has been torn.

Man perishes naked, forlorn.

Chaotic night, unholy night,

Banished by His radiant light,

By His death redeeming man,

God reveals His merciful plan.

Salvation comes to earth,

Through the Christ child’s birth.

Silent night, Holy night,

Humble child, display your might,

You can make the crooked straight,

With great longing we await,

From our heart’s depths we sing,

Come take your place as our King,

Dad's Haircut

My father was a very stubborn man.  After my mother passed away, there was no one to stop him from carrying out some of his more bizarre plans.  For example, shortly after her death, he shortened all his slacks to the point where they looked like he was preparing for high water.  I didn’t know about it until after the deed was done, and he told me, “I don’t know why Mom wanted me to wear my pants so long.”  Actually, it was because her fashion sense was better than his, but I couldn’t really tell him that.

Another quirk which emerged was that he began to cut his own hair.  He couldn’t see what he was doing and was old enough that holding his arms up to accomplish the feat was a problem, but he did it anyway.  This resulted in some dreadful haircuts.

A few months after Mom’s passing, he moved in with us, and I started to feel responsible for his appearance.  So, one day when I was going out to do errands, I offered to take him to a barber shop.

“No,” he did not want to do that.

I tried to tell him that his haircut was sub par, but he wouldn’t listen.

I then said, “You know, Dad, Mom is probably upset with me for not taking better care of you.”

Harrumph

“When I see Mom in heaven someday, she is going to say, ‘Why didn’t you take better care of my Fritzy?  Why did you let him run around like that?’”

Grumpy face reply:  “No, she won’t.”

Me:  “Yes she will.”

At this point in time, my Dad’s brother Roy was also cutting his own hair with similar results, so my next attempt was:  “You know, this is not a contest between you and Uncle Roy to see who can have the worst haircut.”

No response.

I sighed and thought.

“Please let me take you to the barbershop.”

He just slumped in his chair and stared at the floor.  I had seen him use this technique on high pressure salesmen.

So, I pulled out all the stops.  “Okay, Dad.  But when you die, I’m going to have the undertaker give you a nice cut, so you’ll look good in your coffin.”

He retreated to his room.

A short time later, I walked through the kitchen to leave via the back door.  Dad was sitting at the table with his jacket on.

“Are you coming with me, Dad?”

“Yes, you can drop me at the barber shop.”

He got a nice cut that day, but it’s not the end of the story.

Several years later, it was no longer safe for him to be alone while I was at work.  We moved him into a nursing home.  He died only six days later, but in those six days, he had discovered that he could get a free haircut at the nursing home.

So….there he was in the coffin with a brush cut.

As people came to the calling hours, some said, “Gee, I’ve never seen him with his hair that short!”

I shrugged and replied, “You know Dad….the cuts at the nursing home were free.”

I guess in the end, he got even with me.  The undertaker couldn’t give him the nice cut I had planned on, and the rascal also died on my anniversary.

What's in a Name?

Bill had some items he needed to take to a dry cleaners today.  I searched online, since we are new to this area.  One of the closest seemed to be a business called “60 Minute Cleaners.”  Now just what would you think if you saw that name?  I suggested that he question them as to whether the items would really be done in 60 minutes.  We had other errands to run, and I was picturing that we could stop back in an hour.  When he returned to the car, he informed me that “60 Minute” is just their name and has nothing to do with how long it takes.

This reminds me of a used car dealership in northern New York that was named “Florida Cars.”  I questioned whether the cars actually came from Florida…that would, of course, mean minimal rust.  Well, if you think these were cars that have not been exposed to freezing temperatures and road salt, think again.  “Florida Cars” was just a name that had nothing to do with origin.

I wonder if Friendly’s is always friendly.

I wonder if every Bible church adheres to the Bible.

I wonder how many newspapers are full of opinions rather than news.

Shakespeare said, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

I suppose an onion by any other name would make you cry.

Thankfully, when the Bible says, “He will be called Immanuel, which means God with us,” truth was spoken.  His name describes him perfectly.  Jesus Christ was God incarnated in human form.  There is no deception in the name Immanuel.