I learned an important lesson about time that I should have learned a long time ago. You can’t make time; you can’t really save time; you can only take time. Here’s what happened.
I had my week scheduled, priorities in order, checking items off as completed. I patted myself on the back for my intuitive efficiency. Then, it began to unravel. No matter how much time I thought a task would take, it took longer. Distractions. Empty
brain.Too much coffee. I got behind.
I had promised my husband to end my writing week by Thursday afternoon. I considered reneging, but something or Someone told me to take the time.
Just take it? Like a gift I didn’t earn?
That was the message. So I did.
We made our first hike through a very small section of the 189 acres of Portland’s Arboretum. I was in another world. The tentacles of every ought-to thought lost suction. I breathed in green and forest and growth.
I took time.
The gift was not without lasting benefit. The walk returned me home, whole, soul-stirred, and content. So very content.
I have decided that taking time is better for you than making time or even saving time. Besides, there is no recipe to help you make a commodity that only God Himself created out of nothing. Nor can I fool myself into thinking that by doing something superfast I somehow add minutes to some savings bank where one deposits time to use on demand.
Instead I will take time and in the taking, I expect to find what I could not schedule. A friendship. A new adventure. An answer. Hope. Contentment. Me.
I will take time to breathe promises and truth so that I know better Whom I believe.
I will take time to be still so that I hear the quiet encouragement and direction my noisy world suppresses.
I will take time be in the moment, whether at worship, work or leisure.
I will take time as the gift it was meant to be, to savor and treasure.
And if it escapes me, I will not run to catch it. I will stand still and make sure I am ready to
take time as offered. Before it's too late.
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