Redeeming the Time

January 29, 2024 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

“We get more time!”

My friend smiled joyfully as she said the words. Her mom, who has cancer, had surgery last week and is healing nicely.

But, I wonder. . .

I’ve experienced the same thing in recent years. The Lovely Lady’s brother received his original diagnosis four years before the disease took him. At several points throughout that journey, we realized anew that we had more time, albeit limited, with him.

It changed our relationship; making us more purposeful. We valued the times around the table—the visits on the backyard deck. We knew our days together were numbered.

We made the most of them. We invested in them.

Does that make sense?

The Apostle, my namesake, used the term (at least in the version in which I learned it): Redeeming the time.

In the book of Colossians (chapter 4, verse 5), he uses it with respect to unbelievers and sharing the Good News with them. But, in Ephesians (chapter 5, verses 16 and 17), he’s clearly talking about our relationships with those of the faith.

Either way, we’re to invest our hours and days wisely. It’s nothing like the spending time we refer to so often in our culture. Redeeming means buying back; reclaiming every minute.

But, here’s what I wonder:

Why do we wait until we have a pretty clear picture of the time frame? Until we can almost see the limit of our days on earth with those we love?

Our days were numbered from the moment of our conception.

“You saw me before I was born.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book.
Every moment was laid out
before a single day had passed.”
(Psalm 139:16, NLT)

He knows how long we have. He always has.

And He wants us to redeem every minute. For Him, and for those He’s blessed us to walk this journey with.

He knows our days without the need for a surgeon’s prognosis—without the calculation of life expectancy from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention—without our wide-eyed expectations.

He knows. And, He wants us to invest ourselves into every bit of it.

I remember a song that was popular in my youth—an awful song (at least they were awful lyrics). But, there was a grain of truth in it.

The lyrics said, “If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with.” The author of those lyrics intended them to mean that we love them physically—carnally.

Still, my mind has always traveled by its own strange paths.

And, I’m absolutely certain we’re intended to love the one we’re with. With the love that God put in our hearts, we are to invest ourselves every day into others He brings into our lives. In spiritual ways, and in practical ways.

Fill your days with manifestations of love for those around you. Words are good. Actions are better. Gifts are optional.

Don’t wait.

Today needs redemption already.

“We get more time.”

“Every moment of light and dark is a miracle.”
(Walt Whitman)

“See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil.
Therefore do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is.”
(Ephesians 5:15-17, NKJV)

Who’s Stealing What?

October 12, 2023October 14, 2023 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes we don’t see what is right in front of our eyes.

Today started like that. Almost.

Early this morning, I walked away from my front door and headed to the coffee shop. I walked against a brisk wind, it having changed in the last day or two, promising to blow in a cold front soon and perhaps even to blow a few of the leaves from the trees.

Winter will soon be here. But, that isn’t what I came here to talk about, is it?

Today, I’m thinking about time—about eternity. And, I may actually write about those things before I finish this. I may.

I walked the half mile to the coffee shop at a brisk pace, acting as if I were the only human on an errand this morning. It’s easy to think so.

I nearly didn’t see them. The people, I mean. I’m not saying I wouldn’t have known they were there. I simply mean, I almost didn’t see them. Really see them.

People walk past me every day. Even here, in the South, where we wave at complete strangers and holler our loud greetings across the yard to our neighbors, it’s becoming more difficult to get a response from folks.

Perhaps, they are on a mission, as am I. Somehow, deep in thought, they don’t want to encourage interaction, hoping to keep the train (of thought) a non-stop ride all the way to the terminal.

Still, I usually interrupt them anyway, with a quick Good morning or Hey! How’s it going? coming to my lips as I pass.

At the end of my little cul-de-sac, the young lady headed for classes at the university seemed to accelerate to a speedwalk as she saw my trajectory would take me onto the sidewalk just as she began to cross the intersection. She said nothing in reply to my words of greeting. I wasn’t surprised. I fit the description of a strange man to a tee, and she was well advised to avoid any interaction.

Up the street under the hickory trees, the young man walking his dog replied in a friendly manner, his eastern accent—possibly Indian, or Pakistani— reminding me that our little town has become a melting pot (not to its detriment at all).

The middle-aged jogger, arms pumping and graying ponytail dodging left and right behind her as she ran, didn’t even pause in her pursuit of youth to return my greeting. Perhaps, there was no extra breath to waste, as she chased her goal.

The last person I saw before I reached my destination was an older lady, her hoodie zipped up and pulled over her head against the cool autumn morning air. She shoved a bulky metal walker ahead of her on the sidewalk, her progress slow and not all that steady. As I called out a cheerful greeting, a smile appeared crookedly on her face.

She called out her own chipper greeting in reply to mine, the words slightly slurred. I recognized the impairments left behind by a stroke and felt sympathy for the lady. But, more than that, I was impressed by her determination to overcome the damage caused by the malady.

Like the nineteenth-century philosopher, Henry David Thoreau, I have at times declared—at least internally—that “most men lead lives of quiet desperation,” but I learn repeatedly that most folks actually lead full, rich lives, facing their challenges and loving the people God has given them to share life with.

Mr. Thoreau is also the fellow who made the following statement:

“As if you could kill time without injuring eternity.”

Did I say I wanted to talk about time today?

I saw these folks along my route, people from different places, lifestyles, and eras. They all are investing in the present. Of course, by the time this is ready to be read, their activities will be in the past, but I observed them in the moment they occurred.

Young to old, they were making investments in their future.

A friend of mine, a wonderful lady whom I admire, made a comment earlier this week that started me thinking about time.

“Time is a thief.”

Her children are reaching the end of their years at home, ready to fly the protective nest, and she is a little melancholy about it. I haven’t talked with her about her feelings, except to ask how her offspring are doing in their various pursuits. She is proud of what they’re accomplishing—overjoyed they are doing what she raised them to do. They are becoming the caring, honest human beings she and her husband have invested their lives to encourage.

And yet, she says time steals. I won’t argue with her.

I won’t. But somehow, I think we may be the thieves. I’m not sure we actually kill time as Thoreau suggests, but we can certainly be wasteful, squandering opportunity after opportunity as we egress from eternity past into eternity future.

Time itself may seem to take people and things from us, but it only seems so. And, it leaves behind wonderful gifts.

Knowledge. Wisdom, Memories.

Ultimately, it offers perhaps the most valuable of all gifts as we journey through its domain; the gift of opportunity.

Tomorrow. Next week. Next year.

All opportunities. Bright. Untouched.

Waiting for you. And me.

If, like me, you believe in the love and guidance of a Creator who saw us before He spoke the worlds into existence, you will know that time was part of the original blueprint. A gift to all of creation.

And, every moment, known to Him already.

The Psalmist put it this way: My times are in Your hand. (Psalm 31:15a, NKJV)

If you’re still breathing, time is on your side. It is.

Seize the day. Do it gently.

We wouldn’t want to injure it, would we?

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is mystery, today is a gift.
(Eleanor Roosevelt)

Make the most of every opportunity in these evil days. Don’t act thoughtlessly, but understand what the Lord wants you to do.
(Ephesians 5:17, NLT)

Looking Ahead—Looking Behind

March 7, 2023March 7, 2023 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

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)

I’ve Got All Day

April 1, 2016April 1, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Ten o’clock sharp. Every weekday morning. The door is unlocked and the music store is open for business.

It says so on the door in black and white: Business hours: 10:00 AM to 6:00 PM

Right on the door. In black and white.

I actually arrive most mornings an hour early. Preparations need to be made. Loose ends are tied up from the previous day’s business. Orders have to be assembled. Repairs sometimes need to be completed. I want to be ready for the customers who will walk through the door each day.

I see them in the parking lot. Nearly every morning, vehicles pull off the street and pause before the front door. They’re reading that business hours sign. They always leave—well, nearly always.

Earlier this week, as I readied the cash register at about a quarter to ten, I noticed a nondescript economy car pulling up to the store. I ignored it, certain they would back out and leave, to return after I opened up. I was wrong.

Wham! Wham! Wham!

The door rattled with the force of the blows. I wasn’t ready to open up yet, besides which, I tend to be a little obstinate when rushed before hours. I didn’t open the door. A car door slammed outside and I heard a tiny bit of tire-rubber being deposited on the asphalt as the driver left.

I think he was unhappy.

And yet, at 10:05 when he returned (the door then being unlocked), there was no indication of any residual discontent. Our conversation was cordial—friendly, even. It was interesting to hear him talk about his day. He said it more than once, so I’m fairly certain it was so:

“I’ve got the whole day off. I’m just going to take my time and do whatever I want.”

I’m confused.

The door pounding? The tire squealing? Something’s not right here. The sign clearly gives perspective on what one would expect. Experience with other retail establishments would discourage such actions.

And, he’s got all day. No hurry at all.

Why is virtue so hard? You know—patience is a virtue, good things come to those who wait—things like that.

Why is it so difficult, then?

I don’t have the answer to that. But, I do find myself thinking about the impetuous man. In quiet hours, I wonder.

I’ve got a whole lifetime. He had only one day. A whole lifetime, to live my life. Yet constantly, I am impatient—antsy to get on with things.

You too?

It’s funny. We have the signs that tell us what to expect. Springtime and harvest. Day follows night. One man plants, another harvests. To everything there is a season. All written in black and white for us to read.

But, we stand at the door, not being able to see what’s happening behind it, and we pound with our fists, perhaps even kicking it with our feet.

We know the truth. Our times are in His hands. For all our uncertainty and stumbling in the darkness, we believe He controls all that happens to us. (Psalm 31:15)

Or, do we?

He says wait, and we fidget—be patient, and we worry.

We’ve got all our lives. And, we can’t add one millisecond to those lives by worrying. He says that, too.

His plan is being worked out in us. He began the work; He’ll complete it. (Philippians 1:6)

Wait.

He knows how much time we’ve got. Pounding on the door won’t change His plan. Laying rubber in the parking lot will have no effect whatsoever.

Do you know that waiting builds us into the people we were intended to be? I hope I’m not stretching here.

They that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength. They shall mount up on wings as the eagles do. They’ll run and not grow tired. They’ll walk and not become faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

Patience, my friends.

The doors will open at exactly the right time and we’ll be welcomed in.

It says so right there in black and white.

Wait. Patiently.

Wait.

Have patience. Have patience.
Don’t be in such a hurry.
When you get impatient,
You only start to worry.
Remember. Remember,
That God is patient, too.
And think of all the times
When others have to wait for you.
(from Music Machine ~ Hernandez/Powell ~ Singer/Songwriters)

For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all.Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
(Romans 8:24-25 ~ NIV)

The Present

June 23, 2015June 23, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

We sat down to dinner with the table almost creaking under the weight of the food. As is our habit, we prayed before we began to eat, realizing that all the blessings we enjoy are really gifts from a loving Creator. We held hands around the table, a chain of family and friends, from very young children all the way up to Great Grandma, showing our love for each other and thankfulness for the gifts.

Grandpa prayed, as usual.

By long experience, I have learned the attention span of the children is short. Dinnertime is not the time to engage in long-winded prayers, remembering all the sick and troubled, all those who have traveled afar, and those in the world less fortunate than we.

No, we are simply thankful for the food and a few other blessings, asking that we will be faithful stewards of the gifts. Short prayers are the best at the dinner table. My grandchildren would agree.

Some time ago, they learned that the words, in Jesus’ name, usually preceded Amen, which was the signal to eat. Accordingly, the older girl would begin saying Amen as soon as those other words were heard.

I’m not sure if I have gotten longer-winded with time, or if the girl has just learned the process can be hurried a bit, but recently, she has taken to saying the word earlier in my prayer, long before I’m ready to invoke our Savior’s name.

Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen, is what I heard at the table today as I started to wind up my prayer.

I hurried a bit faster to the real Amen! which echoed from several different points of the table. We all laughed and Grandma hugged the beautiful girl as the abbreviated prayer was ended.

These times are precious and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

It did make me think a bit, though. I wonder if deep down inside, we’re all still little children at heart. We are in such a hurry to get to the next part that we forget to enjoy where we are right now, today.

For some reason, we keep looking to the future and its promise, forgetting that the reality of the present is actually a gift given for us to savor and to carry us into that future.

I know I am often guilty. Just get me through this day—this job—this crisis, and I’ll be okay.

Then I get to the future and it’s not much different—simply more wishing for whatever comes next.

I’m not a lover of country music, but I can’t get the words of this song from the seventies out of my head: I…I’m driving my life away, looking for a better way, for me. I’m driving my life away, looking for a sunny day…

It’s not so much that we’re driving it away as we are working and eating and sleeping it away, but little by little it is speeding past, while we look for that time when we’re satisfied with where we are.

I’m pretty sure that time never arrives unless we learn to be satisfied with today, here and now.

As children, we learn to wait (and long) for future events—class bells to ring—big yellow buses to come—summer vacation to parole us. Back then, it seemed that those things took forever to arrive. From today’s perspective, they came and went with lightning speed.

But, still we wait for future events and thus waste today and its joy.

I hear a little voice out there saying, Amen, Amen, Amen, Amen, and realize that it’s time to stop blabbering on now.

I will oblige.

But I will say this before I stop: This is the day which the Lord has made. I will rejoice and be glad in it!

Take time to live, really live, on this spectacular day.

Today.

It is indeed a lavish gift not to be ignored, nor scorned.

Amen!

Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future.
(from Fly Like An Eagle ~ Steve Miller Band ~ 1976)

Godliness with contentment is great gain.
(I Timothy 6:6 ~ NIV)

Eye Opening

June 2, 2015June 2, 2015 ~ Paul Phillips ~ Leave a comment

Brother 1: “What did the man say when the clock struck thirteen?”
Brother 2: “I don’t know. What did he say?”
Brother 1: “‘I’ve got to get up! It’s later than it’s ever been before!'”

I sat this evening in my easy chair. Ah, sweet peace!

Leaning the recliner back toward the wall, my eyes closed of their own accord, just like one of those dolls with the weighted eyelids. My busy day had gotten the best of me and a nap seemed appropriate. Okay–at that moment appropriate had nothing to do with it. I fell asleep without even thinking about the implications at all.

We have four striking clocks in the house, all of which are audible from that easy chair. I’ve never been able to synchronize them to strike at the same time.

The sound as they announce the hour, one after another and intermingled with each other, is enough to wake the dead.

Perhaps that’s a bad metaphor, but it’ll do for this situation.

If lying down was reminiscent of the action of those doll’s eyes, waking was that also. In reverse. As I jerked up from my reclining position, the clocks tolling the hour, my eyes flew open.

I had things to do! What was I doing, sleeping away the evening?

It’s late! I’ve got to get busy!

The clocks didn’t strike thirteen, although a stranger in the house might be excused for thinking it was more times than that. The cacophony when they all get in on the act is a little unsettling.

You know, the man with the defective clock was right.

It is later than it’s ever been.

If that seems a Captain Obvious type statement, I apologize. For some reason, I’m always the last one to become aware of the conspicuous facts.

You see, I’ve never been fifty-eight before, an age I’ll attain later this month. I’ve never been married for thirty-six years before. It’s never been 2015 before.

It’s later than it’s ever been.

Oh, I’ve heard the warnings. All about us, people are shouting that the sky is falling. They are scurrying about blaming others, buying guns, and storing up emergency rations to be sure they survive the disasters, both natural and man-made, which are coming.

I will admit to my ignorance.

I will also admit to my lack of interest.

Please don’t misunderstand. I don’t deny that there is change coming–perhaps soon. I just don’t believe that it makes one iota of difference in our mission. And what I see from many who believe the change is upon us is anger, and confusion, and selfishness.

But, the One we follow–those of us who claim to be Christians–the One we follow has given us our instructions long ago.

Love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that a man lay down his life for another.

And, just in case we misunderstood and thought that it was only those who believe as we do whom we are called to love, God reminded us that it was while we were still His enemies that His Son came for us. To die.

Not friends. Enemies.

The cacophony of the voices I hear raised in cursing–yes, cursing–at the world (and those raised in return) is not unlike the clanging of those clocks, reminding us that it is late.

Not too late, I hope. Later than it’s ever been, without doubt, but not too late.

Are you frightened? Upset by recent events? Disappointed with people and situations? Me, too. It gives us no excuse. None of us.

I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or next year, for that matter. The government and the courts may turn on us. Our accustomed way of life may vanish from the face of the earth. It changes nothing.

Nothing.

We love. Perhaps enough to die, but we love.

Because He first loved us.

It’s later than it’s ever been.

My eyes are open now.

Yours?

This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters.
(1 John 3:16 ~ NIV)

Q: What time is it when the clock strikes thirteen?
A: Time to get a new clock!

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

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