We Run Out of Time - Davalynn Spencer

Time.

We run out of time faster than we run out of money and milk.

But we can always get more money and milk. We can’t go get more time.

When I was growing up and my mother didn’t want to accept an invitation, she always said, “We’re too busy. We don’t have time.” It was a common mantra, bless her, but I never understood what we were otherwise busy doing.

A couple of years ago, I took one of my books to a woman I’d met in a local nursing home after she mentioned she’d like to read it. Weeks later when I saw her again, she said, “I haven’t read your book yet. I haven’t had the time.”

I thought of my mother. Was it just an excuse? Or did the woman have difficulty holding the book, or seeing clearly? Perhaps she just wanted to have it since she had no visitors.

Recently, I saw yet another, unfamiliar facet of time. Rather than running out of it – the little blocks into which we chop it like minutes, hours, and years – the idea hit me that one day there would be no time. Not in the sense of “time’s up,” or “you’re past the time limit,” but in the sense that time will no longer exist.

It will be over.

Done.

Not a thing.

This realization was a bit chilling. I thought of family members who have not chosen to follow Jesus. Someday, they will not have that choice because Time will be gone.

When God gave us free choice, He gave us time in which to exercise it. When time as we know it ceases to be, so will our ability to choose where we want to spend Forever. The phrase, “too late” will become a bottomless reality.

To some people’s horror, that day (another way we measure time) will come before they are ready. Hence the importance of choosing Jesus now.

Last week we celebrated Easter. For believers, it marks the resurrection of Jesus from the dead – the pinnacle of the Christian faith. Death is the great fear that haunts people, yet Jesus beat it. He crushed it for us because we couldn’t.

Don’t let time run out on you. Choose Him while time is still a thing.

Today is the day of salvation.
2 Corinthians 6:2

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With a heavy hand, Mary seasoned a beef roast, taking her frustration out on the slab of meat. She added potatoes and carrots to the pot, set the lid on, and slid it in the oven. Then she hurried upstairs to change into her green wool coatdress. The suit was a bit outdated, for she hadn’t gone anywhere in ages, but Mama used to say green set off her eyes in a lovely way. The memory pricked, but she did not have time to be pathetic. Not if she was to be at the train station on time. She tucked her black spool-heel shoes into the bag and went downstairs in her stocking feet.

Mornings were still chilly, and she fastened every button on her overcoat. At the bottom of the front steps, she pulled on her Wellingtons, then went to the barn, where she’d left her bag beneath the buggy seat, and harnessed Lettie.

“Another drive to town, you sweet thing. Are you up for it?” She combed the mare’s forelock as if were important that she look her very best. “I’ll be right back, ol’ girl.”

Mary held her skirt high as she climbed the small rise, stepping carefully lest she slip and muddy her suit and overcoat. But as always, the view from the family plot was worth the effort with farmland rolling green and fresh around her. A premonition settled within her that this would be her last time for a long time, and she stood between her parent’s headstones, as straight as her father’s. Her mother’s had tilted and grayed over the years and collected moss.

Of course Mama’s and Papa’s loving spirits were not entombed in the cold earth, yet she felt a closeness with them as she whispered her goodbyes. Kissing the palms of her hands, she laid one atop each stone. A familiar tune hummed through her—Mama’s favorite hymn—and she sang in hushed tones.

“On Christ, the Solid Rock, I stand … All other ground is sinking sand.”

Atop the hill she felt as if she were on that solid rock, the foundation of her parents’ faith.

“I love you both so much, and I’m grateful for what you’ve given me.” Her throat tightened, thick with tears. “Not only in land and livestock, but in faith and honor.” She closed her eyes against the sting of sadness and drew a stuttered breath. “I’m on my way to Aunt Bertie’s farm. Wish me well.”

A silly thing to say, but she knew they would do so if they were there. ~Hope Is Built

Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.

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