Time

Time

I stride down the sidewalk,

Boots clicking against

Slushy concrete.

With every exhale,

My breath puffs out

In smoke.

I roll back the sleeve of my duffel coat,

Glancing at my watch

With the gold Roman numerals.

7:01.

I freeze.

Gripping my briefcase, I stride

Faster,

Faster,

Faster,

Hoping, praying,

I can somehow

Outrun time,

Escape its clutches,

Or better yet,

Make it rewind.

As I sail over crosswalks,

Past townhomes,

My ears ring with the ever-present

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Suddenly,

At the corner of Maple Lane

And Brownstone Avenue,

Something catches my eye.

A stroke of flaming crimson.

A flutter of wings.

A cardinal.

He perches on the mailbox

Of townhouse number 246

Cocking his head

And stamping his feet

In a patch of leftover snow.

He doesn’t look hurried

Or concerned.

Doesn’t even seem to mind the cold.

I try to move closer,

But my foot crunches in the snow.

In the blink of an eye,

He’s gone.

I stand breathless,

Stunned,

Saddened by the fact that I'll probably

Never see him again.

But I know in my heart

That I’ll never forget

The little feathered sage

Who knew his needs would be provided for,

And that time is meant to be treasured,

Not feared.

Story behind the poem: I wrote an initial draft of "Time" fairly quickly, and found that the words came easily. However, this poem went through several revisions, and I especially struggled with the line breaks. Even now, it feels very unpolished and imperfect to me, and sharing it with you feels very vulnerable. :)

I wrote a short story a few months ago about a young girl and her grandmother with a similar theme, and I've found that I keep circling back to this topic time and time again. I think the heart of this poem is Matthew 6:26-30:

"Look at the birds. They don't plant or harvest or store food in barns, for your heavenly Father feeds them. And aren't you far more valuable to him than they are? Can all your worries add a single moment to your life? And why worry about your clothing? Look at the lilies of the field and how they grow. They don't work or make their clothing, yet Solomon in all his glory was not as beautifully dressed as they are. And if God cares so wonderfully for wildflowers that are here today and thrown into the fire tomorrow, he will certainly care for you."*

*New Living Translation

In our fast-paced Western culture, "stopping to sniff the roses" isn't typically prioritized. However, if we never take time to breathe, self-reflect, and acknowledge the beauty around us, we'll miss opportunities to hear God's Voice. I'm currently learning how to surrender my life to Jesus and just "be", without dreading the future, always striving to come out on top, obsessing over trivial things, etc. If you're not already on this journey, I pray that this poem would inspire you to join me on it! :)