Time Passages

Significant loss enhances our awareness of time

I’ve been thinking a lot about the passing of time recently. That days and months and years move with increasing intensity as one ages is something I have become familiar with, but with Claudia’s death a year ago my awareness of time has been sharply honed. The song that greeted my pondering mind this morning is this one from 1978:

Like most songs of its era, “Time Passages” feels light and airy, as the lyricist recounts specific situations that compel him to another time and place. It’s not dismal or depressing; it is, rather, reflective and optimistic, a positive way to make sense of life. I have to remind myself that memories can be gifts to soothe my soul rather than goads to deepen my anguish.

In the past couple of days I have been confronted with time passages in positive ways, and I need to hang on to what I’ve learned from those sharing their experiences with me. There are three situations that stand out in my mind.

The first time passage I am marking is the third full month that Otis has been in my care. Not that long ago he was a tiny little puppy nestled in the crook of my arm, preferring more than anything to be the recipient of my attention. Only a few short weeks later he is a rambunctious, fun-loving, inquisitive ball of black-and-white fur who isn’t as interested in calmly resting on my lap. He wants to run, to retrieve one of his squeaky, crinkly soft toys. Each day is a joyous adventure for him, and I try to soak up some of his enthusiasm for life. Time is passing quickly as he grows from a “puppy” into a “dog.” I am realizing that he may well be my final dog; if he attains the typical life expectancy of a dog of his size and hybridity, I will be nearly eighty when his life is finished, but until then, he reminds me there is so much more life to live.

A second time-shaping moment occurred yesterday as I was getting my “Easter haircut.” The hair salon was thrumming with energy and activity (apparently, I’m not the only one getting ready for the holiday weekend) as I was escorted to my chair by a woman older than myself (and that’s saying something, since most hair stylists seem to be the age my grandchildren these days). As she began to cut my hair, she divulged that this is her 50th year of working in the business, first in her own enterprise and then for the past few years in a well recognized national chain. “Fifty years?” I exclaimed in congratulatory verbiage. “That’s very impressive. I wonder how many haircuts you’ve done in five decades?!” She chuckled and then shared with me how interesting her work has been, especially how surprised she has been at how open clients have been, disclosing even extra-marital affairs and their probation status. She went on to say, “I’ll be 68 this year, and maybe I’ll start working part-time sometime in the future.” When I’m feeling that thirty-seven years in ordained ministry (thirty of which have been in my present denomination) is a long haul, I will remember my hair stylist’s contented glow when she speaks of her life’s work. I’m glad that I love my vocational work as much as she does hers.

The third reminder of time passages occurred after worship on Sunday morning. We have two outstanding high school seniors who are finishing their final weeks before their next big life step. I had brief conversations with each of them, and what they had to tell me was similar, one to the other. They are both excited for something new and only a little anxious about the big changes ahead. I love their youthful optimism and confidence, their resilient ability to stretch forward evidenced after years of consistent parenting and strong family, community and church engagements. Their zeal for life and the possibilities their futures hold inspire me to remember, with gratitude, similar junctures in my life.

I am at the stage of life where the passage of time can be more distressing than encouraging. After six decades, I’ve experienced many losses of my own and walked with many people in their losses as well. It could easily become debilitating, when I recognize that I am in the last third of my lifetime, and that from here on out each decade becomes a little more difficult. Remembering these recent positive interactions helps me become more aware that I have the capacity to frame how I will receive what is yet to come.

But it’s not just about how I do or do not frame my life situation. This is a necessity, but if it’s only my responsibility to make sense of time’s passing, I will undoubtedly become lost in the fragmentation and complexity of it all. I need something beyond myself to ground me as I construct my sense of reality. And it can’t ever be only about me, because I am but one speck in the midst of an ocean of humanity.

It is at this point that I lean into Mystery, where I call upon Love to guide my ways. I am continuing to learn that more than anything, “faith” is learning to trust that somehow, in the midst of all that constitutes the brevity of “life,” there is an Eternal One, for whom time is but a slender thread of ultimate Reality, and that this Present One invites connection.

These are weighty thoughts, but I suppose I would rather immerse myself in Love’s possibilities than consign myself to a closed understanding where we are born, we live, and we die. And that’s all there is.

Living with loss is teaching me how little control I have over the things that matter to me most, so I need to keep learning to release my despairing grasp on what once was so that I can be open to what will be. I don’t know what my next time passages will look like, but for today I’m going to trust that Love knows.

And that will be enough.