I’d like to develop eyes to see and appreciate the awe, tragedy, and power in the mundane. This is why I’ve decided to attempt to write every week about something I’m grateful for, the ways in which God is shaking my little snow globe of a life, or something of that variety. This week I am thankful for time. Time to rest. Time with those I care about. Time to think. Time to be.

The start of the new calendar brings with it the close of a time of rest for me. Part of figuring out this whole “adult” thing has been learning how to appreciate each season in its fullest in the present. My tendency is to dwell in the past on what could have been, or to dwell in the future on what might be, rather than dwelling in the present on what is. I try so hard to plan ahead that I lose sight of what’s in front of my face. My mind leans forward toward the next season so eagerly that I fail to appreciate the one I’m in. During this period of rest I had to invest effort into not thinking about school stuff, lesson planning stuff, work stuff, internship stuff, and the general administrative-ish stuff of life.

Time is my most valued and finite resource. I am not sure how much I will be afforded but I am determined to feel the texture of each grain as the sand of time slips through my fingers. As long as Yahweh’s breath fills my lungs I will inhale deeply and exhale fully. To waste time is to waste life. I believe, as a Christian, part of honoring time and the One who fashioned it is observing moments of sabbath (rest and worship), engaging in periods of work, pressing through seasons of pain, and celebrating seasons of joy.

Time is not to be lived passively. In the always insightful words of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.”Such an attitude stems from a tragic misconception of time, from the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually, time itself is neutral; it can be used either destructively or constructively. More and more I feel that the people of ill will have used time much more effectively than have the people of good will.”

I recently saw Interstellar and in it a piece of a poem is quoted over and over. I liked the poem, so I looked it up. It’s an old poem by a guy named Dylan Thomas titled “Do not go gentle into that good night“. I think it’s about the frailty and finitude of human life and the relentless zeal dying people should have as they rage against an inescapable time limit. I leave you with it.

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”