THE ART OF CHUCKING TIME
On Saturday mornings he would sleep in until the sun kissed his face just enough. He wouldn’t shower because what was the need? He didn’t need the hot water to rouse. Chris wanted the baby blanket of ‘just awake’ to remain soft on his skin as long as it could. And he would intentionally not strap on his wristwatch, the next few hours were not hours to him. These were the sweetest honeycombs of his week. All he needed was his cardigan and books, a wallet to stay lucky and a gait to remind himself, “Nothing else matters right now.”
Each Saturday morning Chris made his way to Rojo’s in the square just down and to the left of the uneven brick road that snaked squarely round the Yankee Doodle Taproom. Bought, roasted and brewed their own fair-trade organic coffee they did. That, with a local pastry. Who could want for a better morning?
His first pass through the daily psalm and gospel text would often be bookmarked with crumbs of huckleberry scones and stains of Yirgacheffe dripped just so. But the second time around was different.
For the second chew through the text, a different locale was needed. He did not expect to taste much the first time, it was always on the second sip of a passage that the flavor made itself known. And for that, he would retire to the third floor of an unnamed library.
Reclining in a reading chair gazing out through thick tall panes upon some large elm or maple, there Chris would savor again the sweet words that he had seen before but perhaps never truly relished until that moment. Chris was never able to find the time that he so gladly misplaced on those mornings. He made the time, light enough to forget about it for a while.
Others and I admired Chris for that, and still do to this day. The way he chucked time out the window to enjoy a little Jesus in the morning. It made many of us stop and quietly contemplate the envious thought, “I want whatever that is.”
I once heard a brilliant person refer to the ‘tyranny of the calendar’, and since then that notion has never left me. Each of us have our own pace. Some are content with their daily reclining sessions, while others have too much and seem in a perpetual state of, “hanging in there”. And there are still those of us who no matter the level of chaos or calm find choppy waters of dissatisfaction wherever we set sail.
Chris was a busy guy, who made the time to cultivate a rich inner life with God. Never one to brag or bluster, but the rest of us could see the effects of it on his face after one of his Saturday morning quiet times. Almost a radiance, like Moses after taking too long on Mount Horeb.
Wherever you are today, I encourage you to spend no minutes, but a few breaths and blinks, sauntering with scripture and something to sip. We get this Christian life all wrapped around the axels sometimes. But it’s really just that simple, and infinitely beautiful. You don’t even have to speak – just listen and enjoy Him.