Tip of My Iceberg

I love having the days feel longer as the sun stays out later. A gift from those thoughtful folks who’ve brought us Daylight Savings Time.

However, I despise the reality that they steal an hour from me every spring.

I know. I get it back in the fall. When life is crazy and more hours of sun make sense. When early darkness makes me tired more quickly. When projects always seem to require finishing in the dead of night.

I rationalize so much easier in the fall. I stay up later because I’m gaining that hour.

Now? That hour is gone. Lost. And I’m not sure how they even do that. Or who “they” are.

I should be more grateful. This happens on a Sunday, so there’s a little more wiggle room. I should be able to adjust to the change fairly quickly.

That never seems to be the case.

I spend an entire week grousing about my lost hour. Feeling even more unable to catch up on the things I feel I need to do. I ask myself what won’t get done with the reality of that lost hour.

Mop the floors? Clean the toilets? Laundry? Wash windows?

Who am I kidding? I’m not sure I’d have used that hour to do any of those things.

But it makes me feel better to think I’d have been productive with that hour that someone, somewhere, yanked out of my life. That I’d have chosen to do something meaningful and necessary.

Chances are good to excellent I’d have wasted time in front of television.

Grousing, griping, gritching all come from my sense of entitlement. That was my hour, dad gum it, and nobody takes away my hour.

As if I have control over time. Given the time I have, I’m not always a wise user of it.

I’ve had no say in where or when I was born. The parts of my story that came before me. How long I have here. Control over “my time” is sketchy at best.

I live my life by God’s favor. He knows every one of my days.

“You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life was recorded in Your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.”   Psalm 139:16

That sense of entitlement happens a lot when I think I’m the one holding the deck of cards, dealing them out as I see fit. It’s easy to ignore Who is in control. Because I so love control.

It’s not fatalistic to trust God. It’s faith. Knowing He cares about every aspect of my life. Knowing He sees it all and walks with me through the messiness of my life. Knowing everything about me. Seeing me for who I really am. And loving me fully.

Being known, understood and seen. There’s not enough time in the world for me to make that happen.

It makes sense to trust Him with what He’s given me.

I’ll get all that time back someday. In eternity with Him. When time won’t matter.

Will you?