My times are in your hands
It's just a sequence of numbers.
And yet, it rules our days.
We didn't change our clocks last night in keeping with coming off of Daylight Saving Time, not really for the purpose of conducting any kind of social experiment.
The kids are already up and dressed. The sun is up. Coffee has been brewed and the morning routine is almost accomplished.
Almost an hour ahead of time.
The activities that usually take us right up to the time we need to leave (and often past that mark) have been completed in an environment of calm. Early.
And all because most of the household thinks we need to leave in the next few minutes for church.
Instead of in an hour.
I allow time's tyranny to shoplift my peace. The blink of the digital display can beat a cadence of freneticism into our days.
Obviously there is value in honoring time, in showing up when we say we will, in appropriately budgeting this most elusive of gifts. Time.
But while its passage can't be ignored, we get to infuse it with our hearts. With peace. Or with pandemonium. With grace. Or with grouchiness. With gratitude. Or with greed.
For more time.
May I remember that my times are in His hands. A treasure. A legacy. A sacred expression of the Father's design.