We are so very different. My whole life, she has done things I wouldn’t dream of doing.
And that day wasn’t any different.
My free-spirited big sister knelt by the granite stone and pulled a soggy note out of a sandwich bag. The bag had been shoved rather inconspicuously between two faded and tattered fake daffodils that stood like worn out sentries. It was a Memorial Day weekend, and we, laden with pungent and perky red geraniums, were dutifully making our annual pilgrimage to Chestnut Grove cemetery, to our parent’s gravesites. Despite my protests, my sis set down her plant and began to read out loud the much-too-personal letter she had “found.” Though the moisture of spring rain and early morning dew had blurred the ink, there was no mistaking the anguish penned so neatly on that single page.
A dear and precious loved one gone. Years of alienation and angry words wasted and regretted. Apologies. Brokenness. Grief. Declarations of affection. And finally, sad resignation that there had been no reconciliation and the torturous realization that it would never be.
There was no more time.
I felt horrible; we had violated something private and sacred. Hastily, my too-curious sister stuffed the sheet back into the sodden plastic. We looked at each other with tear-filled eyes, ashamed and silent, as we contemplated the heaviness and the profound truth of the moment, of the message we had read.
For the anonymous author, there was no more time to restore the broken relationship. There was no more time for anything with this person beneath the sod. No more time to laugh. No more time to cry. No more time to sing or dance or work or celebrate or visit or worship or pray or talk or play with that beloved. No more time to simply do life together.
I have experienced that reality too many times.
I remember my niece’s funeral a few hot summers ago. Greg had the difficult privilege of officiating at her informal memorial service. Choking back his emotion, he lamented not having enough time with his cousin. Nearly the same age, the two had been very close all their growing up years. They had made different life choices along the road to adulthood, and their paths had diverged. “I always had in my mind that when life calmed down and we were old,” I remember Greg saying, “we would be sitting in rocking chairs on the porch, catching up, laughing, and enjoying each other like we always did.”
But there was no more time.
For me at age 17, there was no more time to tell my daddy how much I loved him. Neither did I later have more time to laugh with my wonderful neighbor. There was no more time to help and understand one of my oldest and dearest friends. There was no more time to learn from my wise brother-in-law. There was no more time to hold my sweet grandson.
Two weeks ago, I sat weeping in the familiar pew of my former church. We were attending the funeral of a very special friend, a precious lady who now was sitting at the feet of Jesus. We had visited, cooked, served, worshipped, prayed, chatted, hosted, mourned, and shared life for many years. But our paths also had diverged, and life was busy for both of us. It had been way too long since we had taken the time to connect. I was guilt-ridden and devastated. This was a woman I loved.
Again, there was no more time.
As I listened to the courageous husband’s beautiful eulogy and heard the hope-filled message of the pastor, my mind kept whispering to me. There’s no more time. You are too late to renew and enjoy that friendship. Suddenly, I heard my Father’s voice of authority overriding the one in my head.
“There’s time.”
I was surprised. Almost immediately, I pictured in my head the awesome glories of heaven and there I was with Cookie, my friend, catching up! And we had time. We had all of eternity.
Now I am no theologian, and I can’t attest to the validity or the reliability of my imaginations or my day dreams. But I can tell you that my heaviness and shame disappeared in that very instant, and I began recalling and even yearning for the joys of heaven in a whole new way. Certainly, my focus there will be my King. Certainly, I will be singing praises and worshipping my God forever. But, thankfully, so will lots of people I love who have gone on ahead of me. What a precious, comforting thought!
I’ve often eagerly looked forward to a reunion with those God has called home before me conceptually. But imagining spending time with them? Catching up? Getting to perfectly love one another? To perfectly worship, serve, and obey our majestic Father together? Forever? How cool will that be! How beautiful.
I believe there will be time for that.
So I have been reminded once again: time is precious. My life here on earth is like vapor, like grass that quickly fades away. Is that a good reminder for you too?
Psalm 90:12 (NKJV) prompts each of us then to cry, “Teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts to wisdom.” Or as the Living Bible renders it, “Teach us to number our days and recognize how few they are; help us to spend them as we should.”
Ephesians 5:15 also has something to say to us. “So be careful how you live. Don’t live like fools, but like those who are wise.”
I think we spend our days well, I think we are living wisely when we live our lives on Kingdom Mission. Our loving Father has equipped us and commissioned us to know Him and make Him known everywhere we go. He wants Heaven filled with our coworkers, our family, and our friends. And don’t we? Don’t we want them to join us in the joy of our Lord forever?
Let’s get out those invitations! Let’s support Camp Grace! Put up the antenna and throw out the bobber. Open your eyes and ears. Say yes. That’s how our panel last Sunday so plainly challenged us. Let’s not selfishly waste our limited time on our own selfish desires and comforts. Let’s make time for those we love and those we don’t. Let’s live for something bigger than us, something eternal. Let’s live to please our King!
There’s time for that.
After all, He doesn’t want anyone to be out of time.
Nor should we….
—Eileen Hill
