I find myself glancing frequently at the clock throughout my day. It tells me when to gather everyone for the next meal (if their tummies haven’t already brought them to the table); it reminds me to start prepping dinner once everyone is settled for naps; it cautions me to not spend too much time working at my desk since life consists of other things besides blogs and my Thirty-One business; it encourages me to put my feet up for the last 15 minutes of nap time so that I can catch a second wind; soon it will send me outdoors every two hours or so once our new puppy has joined the family; it reassures me that there is always a little extra time for snuggling with my husband before the day bids us goodnight. But there is something the clock never tells me.
It never warns me of how quickly time passes despite never changing its pace; it never reminds me that I too often take time for granted, always assuming that tomorrow it will be there; it never cautions me to spend my minutes like I would one hundred dollar bills rather than pennies in my pocket; it never prompts me to bite my tongue when I say I want those hands to move a little faster. Instead, it keeps ticking the minutes away, one at a time, just as it has done for millenia. And as it ticks…
Hurricanes blow by
Nations rise and fall
Presidents come and go
Possessions shine and crumble
Loved ones breathe for the first and last time
Friendships fade and renew
Ideas flourish and wilt
And tomorrow my oldest son turns 4 years old! There is something about this age that makes my chin tremble with emotion. Perhaps it’s because I remember my fourth birthday party. It was held in the doctor’s office who saved my life by accurately diagnosing the leukemia I had and connecting me to the best doctors in the country. Now my son is at the age of one of my earliest memories. That seems significant to me. Perhaps this birthday is also significant because of how fast it seemed to arrive. I so clearly remember those two pink lines declaring his presence and now he and I share the most heartfelt conversations about dragons and pirates and Jesus and fire trucks and missionaries and Europe and the States of America…
In one breath this baby I held in my arms is now holding the door open for me while I squeeze the stroller through the doorway. As a baby he crawled up onto the open dishwasher door and sat on it; now he is unloading it without being reminded. As a toddler he enjoyed sitting on the dog and now he can let her out when she needs to use the bathroom. He would tear up paper as a little guy but now I entrust him with putting the mail in the mailbox and making sure the flag is up. And that’s merely a brief glimpse of all he does which amazes me.
As often as I can I try to put my ear on his chest when I kiss him goodnight so that I can hear his steady heartbeat. It always takes me back to the first time I heard it. The sound never ceases to fill me with wonder that God would favor me with this child. This child who can’t hug his baby brother enough; who stood outside with our old dog while she ate this morning because it was still dark and he didn’t want her to be scared; this boy who ponders and reflects and declares and hugs with an energy that is unstoppable.
Ah, the clock is telling me I must conclude. A baby is stirring and I have a few pictures to frame. Time slows for no one – not even a busy mom who must set aside reflecting just long enough to prepare for a birthday party.
Is there anything about this blog post that most resonated with you? Please share in the comments below! I would love to hear from you.