To Honor the the Time You Have, Show Up

If I’m honest, there’s so much about this time in which we live that I do not want. I do not want to live in a time when selfishness overrides our love for others, when global pandemics rearrange our lives, or with unlimited, unfettered technology that impacts every square inch of the way we live.

Yes, I do see good in this world, but sometimes the pull of the darkness is strong. My emotions and my mind reel and loop over and over again, yearning for peace, answers, and resolution. I long for a break from the constant strain of all that makes this world groan.

And yet, I know this truth: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?” (Rom. 8:35). It’s gospel that I have to preach to my own heart every day.

Amidst it all, an ever-increasing sense of my own mortality sits with me. As I wake, as I stretch, as I shower, as I make breakfast, lunch, and dinner, as I referee sibling squabbles, as I think and write and teach, as I cook dinner and wrangle my chaotic crew, as I clean just enough of the kitchen to be respectable and then line books back up on the shelf and shove toys haphazardly into a basket, and as I sing goodnight songs and give kisses, as I finally find a moment to be still at the end of a normal day, I think about the whisper of breath that life is.

In my moment of stillness, I think about all the good things I’ve experienced, the very good things, the beyond-my-wildest-imagining things. I also think about the regrets and the might-have-beens and the no-longer-possible things.

An urgency builds in my belly. Down deep, I sense the truth that time is always running out. How can I right wrongs, fulfill deep longings, and leave a mark worth remembering? What once seemed to stretch out for eternity now seems to sit squarely on the horizon—limited, finite, burning almost too brightly. How do we honor the gift of time by living meaningfully in a world overrun by brokenness?

If we’re honest, we know we don’t have time to wish things were different; instead, we must allow the indwelling of Jesus to compel us to be present and to move us to action.

My seven-year-old son unknowingly gave me some much-needed perspective on this a few months ago, when he noticed deep disappointment on my face. “Mom, what’s wrong?” he asked, concern wrinkling his nose and creasing the corners of his deep blue eyes. Clearing my throat, I said, “Oh, buddy, I’m just sad. I didn’t get a job I really wanted. And I don’t know what’s next.” He paused for about five seconds and then said, “I’m sorry, Mama. But I’m really proud of you for putting yourself out there.” What sweet words those were for me in a hard moment.

He seemed to capture in seven-year-old language what a wise wizard once also said:

“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo. “So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

Whether we’re dealing with global crises or personal failures, I think this answer still remains: We must show up. We must try. We must put ourselves out there. We must get up every morning resolved to do what we can, where we can, however we can.

When we show up, we are never alone because we have God’s Spirit within us. The Spirit enables us to be present, to love, to right wrongs, and to seek and find our soul’s deepest desires. He fuels our comings and our goings. No matter the challenges, no matter the blessings, God is with us and continually offers his love to us.

But we cannot be naïve or given to overly sentimental romanticism here. Showing up to life in Christ will expose our impatience, our selfishness, our need for control, and our sometimes misguided emotions.  The good news is, I don’t need more patience; I need Christ to be patient in me. I don’t need more self-control; I need to surrender control and ask Christ to bring self-control from within me. I don’t need to work on my anger problem; I need Christ to be peaceable in me. Watchman Nee said that God is not a vending machine dispensing peace, joy, and patience; he is those things, and when I yield to Christ, he is those things for me and in me. This is the great challenge of living the gospel: I can’t; but in my surrender and dependence, he will.

As Romans 8:31, 37-38 reminds us, our exposed vulnerability is always met in Christ with his love:

He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? . . . in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Lord, may we not spend our one precious life in wishful regret or persistent anxiety. Instead, move us into your presence, empower our showing up, and keep us rooted in your steadfast love. Amen.

Allison Byxbe is a writer and teacher who lives with her family in South Carolina. When she’s not pondering words, she enjoys hiking, learning about natural health, and drinking the perfect latte. Allison loves to connect with others about family, special needs parenting, mental health, grief, and faith. Her writing has been featured on The Mighty and Her View from Home, and you can find more of it on her blog Writing Is Cheaper Than Therapy.

Photograph © Shanique Wright, used with permission