The days are long, but the years are short

We've hit the new year running, but with this new start comes a barrage of memories. This time last year, my little one was only 8 months old, still nursing, just learning the mechanics of walking, loving to eat frozen waffles while his new little teeth were coming in. Today, he eats everything, runs without effort, even to walking up and down stairs, has favorite tv shows, a whole language of toddler and English, mimicking me in every way. It's like this year, he just sprouted and it has been amazing to watch how fast he grew. I took a picture a few weeks ago that makes me feel like his first day of college will be sometime next week.

It's hard to believe he's so independent already.

And yet, I think about the long nights where he's been sick or teething or just so wound up he won't sleep, and those are the longest hours of my life. Whether I'm up being his comfort or being a punching bag for enforcing our routine, the time seems to slow to a snail's pace while his wailing pierces the midnight air and in those moments, I grow weary, as my mind would try to convince me that this is all that life will ever be. 

I live in this dichotomy of how have I watched my little one shoot up in development, stature, communication and independence from the tiny, thoroughly dependent newborn I brought home, and how I can't believe how fast it's all gone, and an agonizing dragging on in times of waiting, times of suffering, times of grinding out another day, just desperate to make it to the next. The days can seem so very long but the months and years are flying by.

"A thousand years in Your sight is like a day that has just gone by." Grass that springs up in the morning and then is gone by the evening is how Moses describes our lifespans. (Ps 90:4-6) Peter goes on to expand on the verse, saying that God is not slow in keeping his promises, as some understand slowness, but is patient, not desiring that any perish, but come to repentance. (2nd Peter 3:8) I think these verses are meant to be a comfort as well as a warning, depending on which part of life's dichotomy we're caught in.

The comfort seems obvious: that no matter the difficulty of the season we're in, time is sure to pass and seasons naturally change. We're promised that things will not be the way they are forever, and it isn't that God is preoccupied or distracted, but is patiently waiting for the opportune moment to act, and that whether in patience or action, everything He does is based in love.

The warning is less obvious, but is noticed in alarming rate at which the years pass, and the building anxiety, regret, and second guessing every little decision. I think of the long summers of my youth, which seemed to go on forever, while I'm caught wondering how is it already midway through January, when I could have sworn it was just April?  We are confronted with the truth that our lives are like grass, here today and gone tomorrow, but are spending time throwing the hours down our gullet, eager to move onto the next, especially if we've been in a period of hardship. We don't savor moments.

The only balance offered seems to be remaining present, whether in plenty or famine. It is the only way to glean all there is in hard seasons, and the only way to avoid the cold shock of how much really changes while we're not paying attention. 

In the sermon on the mount (Matthew 5-7,) Jesus tells us we are the seasoning and illumination of this world. He tells us to give to the one who asks us, to love the unlovely and unlovable, to seek the face of God earnestly, to store our treasure in Heaven and to avoid worry, as it cannot add anything to our lives. Even in His teaching on prayer, he tells us to ask that what is true of Heaven would be true on Earth. All of these can only be realized if we remain present in all circumstances, as He did, who was so conscious of his surroundings, with everyone pushing against him, felt power leave him when a woman reached out in faith for her healing (Matthew 9.) 

My prayer for all of us is in the midnight hours, where our sanity seems moments from breaking, we remain present, seeking His face for wisdom and hope. I pray in the busy hours of sports, gymnastics, work commutes and shuffling around, we remain present, storing up treasure that no thief can destroy. I pray God becomes the Lord of our time, that we might not miss the littlest detail of Kingdom come. I come to the altar and lay down the many distractions and amusements I hold onto, and ask that my Father be present with me. He is a balm to the suffering, and the one who speaks meaning into chaos. I invite you to join me here.