It seems I’ve used up most of my available words in the last year writing about difficult things. As a consequence, for the last few months, my late-night writing sessions have been replaced by late-night reading sessions.
I want to believe the account of words I have to spend is being replenished in the process, but I’m not convinced. Time will tell.
And perhaps, that explains why I am turning loose of a few of those precious words tonight. Time is passing. Passing at a frightening pace.
As I read late into the small hours of the morning recently, I glanced down at my wrist to see the time. For several years the watch I’ve worn has been a so-called smartwatch, one that not only told me the exact time, but could relay messages from my phone, count the number of steps I have taken in a day, and even number the beats of my heart every minute of every day.
But not long ago I realized that I have tired of the over-abundance of personal information collected and shared by the device. I found my old analog watch on the bedside dresser, replaced the broken leather band, and shook it vigorously a few times to wake it up. It is ticking away on my wrist even as I share my hoarded words here.
But, in that early morning session, I glanced down at my new/old watch and remembered another reason I like it so much.
The hands of the watch indicated that it was 1:45 AM. Or, put another way, it was a quarter to two. In the morning. One might even say, it was only three-fourths of an hour past one.
My point is—the watch shows me more than just what the time is at this exact minute. I can see where I came from on it. I can also see where I am going.
The digital watch can only show me right now. If that had been the watch on my wrist, the numbers would have indicated the exact time and nothing else.
A well-known fiction writer addressed this exact issue in one of his books I remember reading a number of years ago.
Digital clocks…provide the precise time to the nanosecond, but no greater context; an infinite succession of you-are-here arrows with nary a map.
(from Song of Albion, by Stephen R Lawhead)
It’s one of my problems with the information age in which we live. Right now seems to be the only thing we’re concerned with. Our watches show the exact time. Right now. Our news reports are instant, telling us what is happening. Right now. Many of our interactions with friends are by electronic means, informing each other of our present status. Right now.
We live for today, eschewing the past, and barely considering the future. Our sages tell us to forget the past because we’re not going there and to live for today because we may never arrive at any point in the future.
Carpe Diem! Sieze the day!
Even those of us who follow Christ hear it from our teachers. The Apostle Paul said the words, so they must be a life text to hold to.
“Forgetting those things that lie behind, I press on…” (from Philippians 3:13,14)
In one way, they’re not wrong, but the apostle isn’t telling us to ignore the past as we look to the future. He’s telling us to let go of the baggage, the things we cling to as proof of our right to be followers of Christ. He doesn’t call the past garbage, just the deeds we mistakenly think have earned us a place here.
The past matters. It has shaped who we are today. Events—good and bad; interactions—kind and ugly; memories—delightful and horrendous; all have become a part of us. The real us, who we are at our core.
If the past were of no consequence, our Creator would never have inspired men to write the Scriptures. If the future were not for us to be concerned with, He would never have given us the hope of Heaven—would never have encouraged us to throw off the weights that impede our progress daily and to press on toward a certain goal.
Did I say earlier that I only glanced down at my watch in that early morning, not long ago? I meant to say that was my intention.
When I became aware again, that quarter-hour in front of two o’clock had slipped past, the minute hand easing past the top mark on the face.
Time is like that; whether day or night, it flees. Many of the old-time clocks had the Latin motto inscribed on their faces.
Tempus fugit.
I’ll never catch it. Never.
Still, a glance backward now and again gives me confidence to look to the future with hope.
And, strength to face today with purpose.
Press on.
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. (Hebrews 12:1, NLT)
“Where did you go to, if I may ask?” said Thorin to Gandalf as they rode along.
“To look ahead,” said he.
“And what brought you back in the nick of time?”
“Looking behind,” said he.
(from The Hobbit, by J. R .R. Tolkien)