When Time Feels Like It’s Not Mine.


Time has a way of feeling both abundant and scarce all at once. There are 24 hours in every day, same as it is for everyone else, and yet some seasons of life make it feel like those hours slip through our fingers before we even realize we had them. Responsibilities stack up, commitments pull in every direction, and somewhere in the middle of it all I think will I ever get to ALL the things that matter to me? Lately that something, has been my home.

Not just surface level cleaning, but the deeper kind. Decluttering, organizing, restoring order to a space that has become overwhelmed. I see it, and I feel it, and yet I keep moving past it because life keeps asking more of me.

Work, family, commitments, me being stretched in a hundred different directions. Then Sundays come, my only day off. Every week I say to myself I am going to make it to church, then I find myself at noon time still in my PJs, being lazy and feeling the exhaustion of the week or I spend it with my grandkids. Time with them is more important to me. Whether it’s taking the older ones out for lunch to catch up and stay connected or visiting the little ones knowing they will only be little for a short time, even if it’s a face time call with the grands who live far away, the connection with them means the world to me. Talking to my adult kids via text, face time or visits is equally as important. I don’t as much as I’d like because they too have busy lives, so when that time is available, I’m not going to refuse it. Being with my kids and grandkids is more important, filling my heart rather than emptying my to-do list.

This is where the tension lives, because part of me feels the weight of what isn’t getting done, the clutter, the unfinished corners, my overfilled craft room that contains things I will never live long enough to use. The back “storage room” that holds years or stuff we don’t need. It’s the overwhelm that waits for me in my own home, day after day, Sunday after Sunday. However, another part of me knows that time is not just meant to be managed, it’s meant to be lived.

I think we often treat time like something we need to conquer. Organize it, maximize it, squeeze every ounce of productivity from it. But what if the real question isn’t “How do I get more done?” But instead, “What is this season of my life asking of me?” Right now, my season is full. Full of people I love, full of responsibilities I’ve said yes to, full of moments that one day, I will wish I could get back.

My home will come together eventually. Not in a rush, not in a single day, but in the margins of my life, in faithful, quiet moments of effort. Maybe that is the lesson time has been trying to teach me all along: That it’s not about finding more time, it’s about being faithful with the time I already have.

I may never find the perfect stretch of time where everything lines up and I can finally get it all done. Life just doesn’t seem to work that way, but I’m starting to realize, maybe that’s not the point. Maybe it’s not about waiting for the right day, the right mood or a completely free Sunday. Maybe it’s just about being willing to begin, even if it’s small and imperfect. A drawer, a corner, fifteen minutes at a time. Not pressure, just progress. Maybe that’s enough, not just for my home, but for my heart too.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” Ecclesiastes 3:1

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