{Time and Biscuits}

I am late.

Typically, usually, (expectantly) late.

To my boss, ignore the previous statements..

My friends and my family know that when it comes to getting out the door, they better tell me I’m supposed to be leaving fifteen minutes before the actual time they would like me to appear.

And I will proceed to waltz down the stairs five minutes late after that.

There are particular occasions in which I will make sure I show up on time.
Or, dare I say it.... early.

That is, when I know biscuits will be served and make-up need not be applied.

Joking.
Kind of.

Truthfully,
I will show up on time.. er, early.. when something very important to me demands my attention.

The most recent example I can think of is my interview for an elementary school in San Antonio. Completely a gift from the Lord, there is no rhyme or reason I should have received this interview except that the hands of God pieced together grace and details twenty-two years earlier. Even to interview at this school was a dream.. a school labeled as low income, Hispanic majority, 13:1 student-teacher ratio, and nestled in the heart of a well-supported school district. I could feel the blood course through my veins and hear my heart pound just thinking of the children’s faces. My heart, my passion, my day dreams.. all pointed to being in this environment with these kids. I don’t have to know them to know I already love them, I want them, and I believe in them.

For this kind of occasion, I will appear early.
Three days early.
Truthfully, I came 20 minutes early.. but if I could, I would have been sitting on the bench outside the interview room three days before if it were, you know.. allowed.

One week later..
I’m sitting on my couch with a lukewarm cup of black coffee, and all I can think about this morning is time.

What is it that makes me late to some things and early to others?
I am early when it is something I truly care about. When I can cradle the weight of the ensuing moment in my hands and understand it is valuable.. it is a gift. 

So what makes me late?

I’m reading a book that has challenged me this morning to consider my view of time.
I’m challenged to consider.. when did I forget to pray for God to “teach [me] how short [my] life is, so that [I] may become wise"?

Mark Buchanan shares,

Those who sanctify time and who give time away -- who treat time as a gift and not possession -- have time in abundance. Contrariwise, those who guard every minute, resent every interruption, ration every moment, never have enough. They’re always late, always behind, always scrambling, always driven. There is, of course, a place for wise management of our days and weeks and years. But management can quickly turn into rigidity. We hold time so tight we crush it, like a flower closed in the fist. We thought we were protecting it, but all we did was destroy it.


I have forgotten all of a time is a gift.
It is not my possession.
It is not mine to squeeze into the pages of my cute planner with the big pages to cram as much as I can without making the words look like Waldo might be hiding somewhere in the nooks and crannies.
(Oh, you know what I’m talking about.. don’t lie)

Time management is good.
It helps us to be careful how we live, not as unwise, but as wise. We make the most of every opportunity.

But I cannot forget Who really manages my time.


"What becomes important is not that I manage time, 
but that I let God manage me." 
-David W. Henderson


We have no ownership of our time.
I think a recent event serves as a sharp reminder to us that life is but a mist, and we don’t know the measurements of its length.
But we can know its depth.
How freeing.

Maybe I wouldn’t be late if I understood that my time was a gift.
Or.. maybe I would.

But I wonder what one day would look like where I remember each moment is a gift.
Each second is an opportunity to turn my eyes to heaven and thank Him for not allowing me to know its length..
 so that, just for today, I can better focus on measuring its depth.

Starting with biscuits.
Mmm, duh.