On Time, Seasons, and Eternal Souls
The truth is…
Good things take time.
Yet, we have been trained to expect our every desire to show up tomorrow. Or today if we order in the next 38 minutes.
But does instant-everything really make us happy? Or does it keep us in a constant state of anxiety?
I have lovely memories of pressing leaves between waxed paper with my mom. We would wander through the park or neighborhood every autumn as days grew shorter and the temperatures cooled, turning the leaves to jeweled tones of amber, ruby, and gold. As we wandered, we'd gather up our favorites and take them home.
Out would come the old iron and wax paper, and we'd arrange them five different ways—until we had them perfect. We’d press them carefully and hang them in our windows, a celebration of the ever-changing world outside.
All of this took far longer than clicking "buy now" and getting on with "the important stuff" of life while we wait for autumn to arrive in the mail.
But should "saving time" be our biggest priority? Is "the important stuff" really what's most important?
What the Seasons Teach Us
A lot of people much smarter than me seem to have thought a lot about time and seasons. So I think it is fine (good?) for us to do so.
C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton especially viewed the passing seasons as good markers that did two important yet seemingly opposite things: They root us in the time that governs our days; they tie us to the eternity that lies before us. They remind us of our present mortality and of our eternal souls.
One of the most dangerous things about our rushed and distracted culture is that it keeps us from ever noticing these markers, these "windows" into forever time—It is in the places where eternity stretches before us that we wonder about our souls, the souls of our children, the souls of our neighbors. In these places we stop to consider how the things we are doing now will affect our future—our ten-year future and our forever-future.
The things that make the most noise are all on our calendars and the constant alerts from our phones.
But the things that actually matter most? Those are quiet. We need stillness and contemplation to notice them.
Finding Windows Into Eternity
But where can we look for these little windows into eternal time?
I find that most often they seep in when I am reading deeply. When I am praying. When I'm immersed in creating something, or interacting with something made with care and skill...And for some reason when I am just watching animals be animals. There is something enchanting and a little bewitching about the bird at the feeder or watching a cow just be a cow.
Last week we went camping. Everyone else was off adventuring, but I chose to stay behind and read. As I did, I watched a squirrel scampering across the quiet camp. It would gather some nuts and go hide them, presumably in a place it would forget by tomorrow. It was busy about its squirrely duties.
But then it would take a break and run across the grass, turning somersaults like a gymnast practicing his floor routine, basking in the sunshine and breezes and oblivious to his audience. The squirrel was not worried about the other squirrels, or me, or the stock market. He was just being a squirrel, doing what his Creator designed him to do and trusting, in whatever way that squirrels do trust, that our heavenly Father would feed him.
I do have things that I must care for, and think of, and do beyond storing food for the winter, but because I stopped to watch I was reminded that—all my efforts aside, I am still utterly dependent on the one who stamped me with his image and lovingly set my duties before me. It is good to remember that.
Calendar Time vs. Eternal Time
It is hard to contemplate autumn—and what the change from summer's abundance to winter's rest means for me deep down on the inside—when I just hang the latest plastic trend on my doorknob after the delivery driver tosses it carelessly on my doorstep.
Tinsel in place ✅ autumn has arrived.
But when I carefully gather the leaves from my yard or local park? When I carefully unwrap the embroidered table runner with the pumpkins that are a little out of style, but which I can tell were stitched with care by a real woman who poured her time into them?
When I immerse myself in "real" then I cannot help but contemplate the eternity that is before me.
The leaves will wither and fade. The table runner will eventually be eaten by moths but it'll last much longer. I will continue forever.
In these liminal spaces forever shines through, like the sun climbing over the hill every morning, blazingly red and unignorable.
I am an eternal soul dwelling in a finite land. Somehow, when I recognize that all of eternity stretches before me I also understand that what I do today means much more than checking off a to-do list and returning that phone call.
What I do with my days matters because it is making me who I will be not only next year but also in eternity.
Calendar time "feels" the most real, because it is the noisiest of the times. But eternity, with its soft and gentle ways, is actually our native time. We were made for eternity. God put it in our hearts.
Your Challenge This Week
So, my challenge for us all this week is to make space for the still and quiet. Take a walk and gather some leaves. Do you have a piece of autumn decor that was made by hand? Put it where it can remind you of the hands that made it, the beauty of the personal, and the future that lies before you.
The leaves are waiting to be gathered. The eternal is waiting to break through. Will you notice it this week?
Tell me in the comments, where do you find your "windows" into forever?
~amanda