Time Marches On

Geoffrey Chaucer wrote, "Time and tide wait for no man." Life and time are inextricably connected. Practically from conception, we measure life in time. We measure gestation in weeks, then we move on to measuring infancy in months. Somewhere around 2 years old I stopped counting my children's ages in months, but that was really just because it was too much math. Childhood is measured in half years and milestones. Adulthood is measured in milestones and decades. Time is predictable, measurable, and universal. 

In my own life, there was a point where I stopped really paying attention to time. It's really only when specifically pointed out do I sit and think about passing time. For example, I recently realized that I have known one of my dearest and best friends for 26 years. My first reaction to this realization was, where did those 26 years go? My niece graduated high school this past spring and went off to college, but I could have sworn I held her in the hospital for the first time only months ago. I have to consciously think about how old I am. It took me an embarrassingly long amount of time to accurately remember how old I was when Honey was born. I mean, yes, I can count backwards and I can add years, but my poor overloaded brain could not establish congruency with my own ages in this process. 

My overall sense of time and the passing of time has been directly impacted by grief and loss. There are entire blocks of time I don't really remember. It is both a blessing and a curse. Some of those moments and time periods were so painful, so raw, so brutal. I'm ok not remembering them, except, pieces have started coming back to me. Despite the passage of time, those moments are still painful, still raw, still brutal. I just have the mental and emotional capacity to face them now. Just yesterday I recalled a moment from shortly after Andrew died, and I broke down in tears. 

Time does not heal all wounds. At least I don't believe so. Time provides distance and perspective. It affords the opportunity for healing and growth. But time itself heals nothing. Healing is hard work, and it takes conscious effort. Healing is messy. It is unpredictable. It can be lonely. Healing is a process with no concrete end point. Sometimes wounds I believed had healed become raw once again. Healing takes time, and time also exposes wounds that still need attention.

In ten days, it will be six years since Andrew passed. As of this past August, Andrew has been gone longer than we were married. This coming February, he will have been gone longer than I knew him. Time. Perspective. Grief. Andrew and I met the week before his 32nd birthday, and he died almost three months after his 38th birthday. I am rapidly approaching the point where I have lived longer without him than I did with him. Our daughter, Little Miss, has lived 3/4 of her life without Andrew. Mr. M has lived over half his life without him. Time. 

Losing a spouse is a gut-shot. It doesn't matter if you were married three months, three years, or three decades. One of the curious elements of being a 'young' widow is the likelihood that I will outlive Andrew by decades. My time with him will be a piece of my life. A significant piece. An important piece. A beloved piece. A life-changing piece, but still a piece. I lived three decades of life before I met him, and, God-willing, I will live at least another three decades after losing him. Time.

A dear friend told me once that when I write a book (not if, but when...she was very specific about that), the title should be "Life in the After." Let me be the first to declare that life in the 'after' really sucks sometimes. It hurts. It is an unquantifiable confluence of emotions and experiences that so few can relate to. I am happy. I have an amazingly blessed life. I have a loving, caring, understanding husband. I have three exceptional children (that I still want to leave on the curb with a 'free' sign sometimes). I am in the stream of God's plan for me, working full-time in pastoral ministry at a church. We moved north and just closed on a beautiful peace of paradise. I am literally living in my life-long happy place. And I still miss Andrew. I still cry and get verklempt. November is still really hard for me. I still have wounds. I am a member of the walking wounded.

This is the time of year when the pocket of my heart where Andrew resides opens up a bit more. For a person who prefers to keep her emotions private, this is wildly inconvenient. I'd prefer if I could keep it to myself, and remember, smile, and grieve in my own way, as I do the other 11 months of the year. But God told me early on that this is a story I can't keep to myself. I'm not allowed to. Every step in this journey has been on purpose, and the purpose is to declare the goodness of God and the hope I have in Jesus. That is something that time cannot and will not change. 

I'm still singing. Lately, I have been singing a song by Zach Williams called "Jesus Loves". It reminds me of my Andrew, who for so long struggled with the idea that Jesus loved him unreservedly, unabashedly, and unconditionally. But he did, and he does. Period.

All the renegades, the rebels, and the runaways
All the prodigals who got a little lost along the way
And all the backsliders, up all nighters, down in a rut
These are the ones
The ones that Jesus loves

Every dream shattered, bruised and battered, barely hanging on
Every heartbroken, lonely soul sitting all alone
And every outcast, stuck in their past, scared of letting go
These are the ones
The ones that Jesus chose

So come on in, the door is open
And the Savior's arms are too
The table's set, a seat is waiting
And He saved it just for you
So no more running
No more hiding
Come on in and you will find
That you don't have to be enough
To be someone Jesus loves

And all the too proud, the holier than thou, looking down on them
And all the high and mighty, fallen from grace, trying to start again
And all the stones cast, judgment passed, He's forgiven you
Oh, He's leaving the light on
So you know where to run to

So come on in, the door is open
And the Savior's arms are too
The table's set, a seat is waiting
And He saved it just for you
So no more running
No more hiding
Come on in and you will find
That you don't have to be enough
To be someone Jesus loves (loves)

Don't gotta fight for His forgiveness
Don't gotta beg Him for his grace
You don't gotta argue for acceptance
If you hear nothin' else, child, hear me say

Yes, Jesus loves
Oh yes, Jesus loves you

So come on in, the door is open
And the savior's arms are too
The table's set, a seat is waiting
And He saved it just for you
So no more running
No more hiding
Come on in and you will find
That you don't have to be enough
No, no, no
It's been decided by the blood
Yes, you're someone Jesus loves
Someone Jesus loves
You're already someone Jesus loves