About the only thing the BF and I disagree on is the concept of time. To me, being on time means being ten minutes early. To him, it means being no more than fifteen minutes late. I overestimate how long it takes to get anywhere, counting in time for traffic and potential terrorist attacks. Meanwhile, in his mind it takes the same ten minutes to get to work as it does to get to LaGuardia. (Neither takes ten minutes.) I never get tired of the joke about how since we were friends for a year before we dated, technically he was twelve months late to the party that is our relationship. (Sometimes his responsive laughter sounds forced.)
This morning, during my one-on-one with Jesus (I bring the coffee, he brings the grace), this idea of time came up. A lot. Maybe it started when I read the following verse in chapter ten of Hebrews:
37For in just a very little while,
“He who is coming will come and will not delay.”
I forgot for a second that I was dealing with the eternal God of the universe (this seems to happen often), and I let out a sarcastic, bratty little laugh. A laugh that implied, “REALLY, Jesus. Really? In a very little while? Will not delay? What do you call two thousand years?”
A response gently whispered through my heart: “How about the blink of an eye?”
And I realized once again that Jesus and I do not wear the same watch.
A deeper truth is that one reason being on time matters so much to me is that I am a rules-oriented person. Abiding by them used to get me a gold star; now it affords a false sense of security and self-worth. Propping those up is the ugliest part: being able to judge those who don’t keep the rules. See, here’s the thing: I am a jerk. Just like you. And everyone else. And every part of me that is not transformed by grace is out to prove itself.
This morning, The Great and Timely One showed me some serious love about all this. I was reminded of how hard it is for me to show people grace when they mess up, even though I need it so desperately and so often myself. I thought about how many times I’ve interpreted a time lapse as an interruption or delay when, really, it was him. I saw an image of myself–furrowed brow and raised fists, with which I approach the world and his people in it. And I thought of how much time he’s given me, despite the yuck that has been so much of my character and the fact that it took about thirty years for me to even begin to understand who he is. I thought about the love shown in his never-tiring, unbreaking commitment to me. How much patience he needs to stick with me. How much more patience that is than he needs with some people whose only flaw appears to be chronic lateness. How much grace there is in the fact that I am loved by both the one who is always on time and one who never is.