A word as constant as life itself; "Time". So many expectations have been placed on this one word. So many dreams, hopes, changes; so many cares, sorrows, pains, all also hoping in this one word. Hoping that with the passage of Time, they all can either find actualisation, relief, or at least, evolution.
"What makes Time so special?", is one question I've asked myself over and over again. And I've come to realise, that it's the hope it carries—the thought that within its confines, are a myriad of possibilities, both the imagined and unimagined, cradled in its depths, fills everyone with such breathless hope; ensures their dependency on it.
I know with time, I'll come to understand this.
I know with time, I'll grow into all that God wants me to be.
I know with time, I'll get over this loss.
I know with time, I won't cry over the things I once did.
I know with time, I'll get better.
These promises and more, we make to ourselves, because we know there's something called Time. It's a game changer; a deal breaker; and for some people, the conductor that controls the orchestra of decisions they take.
Well, I have a love-hate relationship with Time. Because between it, God, and I, are significant promises—some of which, my heart still hasn't deciphered. And it irks me to no end, because I like to know, but Time is withholding from me its secrets.
I've contemplated and tried to ignore its weight, tried to ignore and pretend to be unaware of the amount of processes it stewards; processes, that could leave me unrecognisable at the end of them all.
But I have failed to. And in my moments of Time-directed paranoia, I'm down on my knees, begging Time to share some of its secrets with me.
It still hasn't though. And ironically, I'm sorta glad about that. Because I have a tendency to live in the future, and ignore my present. But now, I can't do that. And there's a subtle gladness on my insides.
There's one thing I've learnt to do though. It's a secret I'll gladly share with you. And that, is to lean on Time's master. I don't mind journeying through the caverns of Time, blindfolded even. As long as He keeps holding my hand.
And He will.
This is my Joy. That though Time can hoard or guard its secrets, I'm not worried anymore. Curious, yes, but not worried.
Because the maker of Time knows and holds me, and each and every one of His firmly guided processes, are for my good and for His glory.
For this reason, I trust.
For the king trusts, relies on, and is confident in the Lord, and through the mercy and steadfast love of the Most High he will never be moved.
—Psalm 21:7 (The Amplified version)
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