three-hundred-sixty-five

Time is a mystifying element.

Can it be comprehended

in mind and thought

uncaught

by human hands, from human grasp?

A concept to which

all the world is bound

by God—

Who dwells outside its boundaries.

Each moment ticks,

sometimes slow, sometimes quick,

depending on the circumstances.

The joy, the pain,

through sunshine or rain—

or perhaps frozen.

Frozen in time.

Like fish in the Northern, icy seas,

or a bottle caught

in a revolving current.

Time marches forward

but circumstances often do not.

Each day may play out

as the day before—

in mind, in emotion, in heart.

The seasons come and go,

the people around

move to and fro—

going about their lives the same

as they always did before.

But I am stuck,

like that bottle,

as though time went

round and round

instead of forward.

Yet, it still moves on.

Am I left behind?

September First.

How can it be one year?

Each day has seemed identical

to the one before…

the same prayers, the same thoughts, the same survival.

Hasn’t time stood still?

Until someone comments

“Now, when was he ill?”

And I realize I’m left behind.

in that bottle.

The magic of one year.

(We made it.)

It’s said to be a milestone.

Does it get miraculously better

from here?

Does one who has lost an arm

instantly improve on day

three-hundred-sixty-six?

What of day

eight-hundred-seventy-two?

Or even ten years from now,

chained

to that

relentless,

marching

time.

Does time really heal?

Perhaps it dulls the initial wounds,

the pain, the memories dim…

But time does not

put back the limb.

Life is re-learned, bit by bit.

New skills acquired,

small victories won,

adjustments made.

Time continues its incessant pace.

But it does not put back the limb.

Is there ever a day

when the arm is not missed?

When it becomes easy once again

to hug, to hold, work, to play...

with one arm?

Time does not really heal.

It cannot.

It has no power over missing parts.

It has no power over broken hearts.

But God.

But GOD!

In the midst

of my bottled existence,

in the midst

of my stagnant thinking,

God came.

Quietly, gently,

firmly, intentionally…

and reached down

to hold me up…

with His Right Arm.

Not my right arm,

but His.

Not a replacement…

He said it wasn’t a replacement.

It was something better.

Not that it was bad before,

when I had two arms…

but something new

doesn’t always mean

the old was bad.

It was just old.

And He’s in the business

of making new things.

Whether I wanted it or not.

And how can I complain about

holding the hand of God?

The hand of God?!

I dare not.

It is too wonderful.

Thus, here I stand, at one year.

How has it been a year?

How can I look ahead

and think about another year?

And another?

The idea still is drear

and I can hardly comprehend.

But wait…He is here. HE is HERE,

in the midst of time.

Time—unable to heal, but

controlled by the Healer,

filled with the Comforter,

enlightened by the Counselor,

upheld by the Strengthener.

By His strong Right Arm,

He has done marvelous things

in my life

in three-hundred-sixty-five days…

and the days before that…

and the days after.

Each moment as I live without

what time cannot fix,

(oh, how I miss him),

the Lord will hold me up,

my Rock, my Consolation,

my Dwelling Place, my Friend,

until that glorious day—

that glorious, incredible day!

When all will be loosed

from the chains of time,

and He will fully heal,

and make everything

whole and right!

And nothing…

and no one—

within His care and covering—

will be missing.

Ever.

Forever.

“I have set the LORD

always before me;

Because He is at my right hand,

I shall not be moved.

Therefore my heart is glad,

and my glory rejoices;

My flesh also will rest in hope.”

(Psalm 16:8-9)