Fast Forward

Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah, Georgia

Years ago, a sweet man in his eighties summed up time in a way Einstein never could.

Mr. B, a fellow church member, told me that there are about two weeks between the Fourth of July and Christmas.

Yep, that’s about right.

When you’re a kid days pass like the last drops of honey from a little bear bottle. Especially when you’re waiting for something wonderful.

Every December 1st Mama would pull out a red felt ribbon filled with 24 tiny Christmas ornaments. I’d remove one glass sphere each night at bedtime. According to the attached poem, “Christmas Eve will be here by the time you reach the bell,” referring to the little jingle bell sewn at the bottom. Sometimes that bell seemed as far out of reach as the moon, each day lasting at least 36 hours.

Time also slowed down when I was in the middle of something unpleasant, like tumbling in gym class or getting a cavity filled. Come to think of it, the moments spent in Dr. P’s chair passed faster than those spent in gym. Don’t even talk to me about volleyball.

Only summer days sped by. The end of school would collide with my July birthday, then, boom, summer would be done.

Even that wasn’t a bad thing. I’d get excited about the never-touched box of crayons, full-length pencils topped with perfect erasers and the selection of a new lunchbox. The one that looked like a barn was the best.

Then I grew up.

And time changed.

The acceleration was so gradual that I didn’t even notice it until our sons were born. I looked around and realized I was moving at sub-light speed. I entered warp when they went to kindergarten, each successive level of schooling passing more quickly than the last. I could have sworn only six months elapsed between freshman year drop-off at their respective universities and graduation. Now I’m traveling at a rate even Captain Kirk or Luke Skywalker would find incredible.

So here I am, bidding farewell to Summer 2019. Yeah, I know it’s only early August, but once school starts summer’s over, and Grandchild #1 begins kindergarten today.

Really? Didn’t we get a call about her impending birth around two months ago?

Throw in the fact that Mr. Pettit and I are celebrating our anniversary and you can see why the topic of time is rumbling around in my brain.

I’m at an awkward age, kind of like the purgatory known as middle school. No one will describe me as young unless I keel over on the sidewalk. But I’m not yet ready for the exercise class in which all the participants remain seated. (Yes, I’m still going to Mr. Pettit’s fitness center. I’m not quite as weird about it as I used to be. Okay, sometimes I am. And don’t get me wrong, I respect the folks in the seated class. They’re not giving up, and that’s no small thing.)

Christmas isn’t nipping at the heels of Independence Day yet, but it will happen if God lets me hang around long enough.

And that’s what it all boils down to: How much longer will I hang around? Not to start the week on a morbid note, but I’m at the point described in Hal Ketchum’s beautiful song “Satisfied Mind,” written by Tony Arata: “Many more miles were behind him than he had left to go.” When I was 20 I saw an endless parade of years ahead of me. I can’t cling to that illusion any longer.

I had planned to wrap up this column with a mildly funny analogy, but some news I received moments ago changed that. A sweet friend has lost her child. She and her family are in a place of exceeding darkness today, as are the loved ones of those killed in El Paso and Dayton this weekend. As are the loved ones of those lost to illnesses, accidents, addictions and violence across our nation and the world.

After we pray, after we send the card or visit, what can we do? How can we use the time given to us?

All I can offer, dear readers, is the premise of this blog. Whatever the speed of our days, we spend them a moment at a time. That’s why we need to take note of those moments, savoring the sweet ones and trying to learn from the rest. I strive to live with a keen awareness of what’s happening around me, but I confess to switching to autopilot more often than I’d like. Maybe human beings are incapable of fully appreciating our lives, any more than we can use 100 percent of our brains.

Perhaps that’s what heaven is for.

In the meantime, I’ll muddle along, stumbling upon a spoonful of clarity here and there thanks to the grace of my Maker.

Seize the day? No.

Seize the moment.