Of the sixteen New Years I鈥檝e written these faith columns, my first remains my favourite. From the vault, here it is again, slightly edited:
Something strange scampers underfoot at our house. One of our clocks marches boldly where no Gibson clock has gone before.
Rick discovered it first. 鈥淭his clock is going backwards!鈥� His bass voice skidded towards soprano.
鈥淣o way.鈥�
鈥淐ome and see. Bet someone put the battery in wrong.鈥� He pried open the clock鈥檚 back. Positive to positive 鈥� no foolery there. Removing the battery, he applied all his technological expertise 鈥� shook the clock and reassembled it precisely the way it had been. The hands obediently reversed 鈥� for about thirty seconds.
The clock has run in reverse ever since. If I start a half-hour task at 2:30, I鈥檓 done by 2. I begin dinner at 7:30 and we鈥檙e eating by 6. It鈥檚 made me incredibly efficient 鈥� the wonderwoman I always wished to be. And it鈥檚 made me ask 鈥淲hat if? What if I could really turn back the clock? What if I could live my last hour over again? What would I change?鈥�
I never have to think long. There鈥檚 always something I鈥檇 do differently. I鈥檇 use that spare ten minutes for that small task I keep putting off. I wouldn鈥檛 put that junk in my body. I鈥檇 take five minutes to reflect before that hurtful conversation. I鈥檇 run outside for a gulp of fresh air. I鈥檇 hug her good-bye. I鈥檇 do the loving thing instead of the proper thing. I鈥檇 say yes. I wouldn鈥檛 have spoken so quickly, assumed so much.
No wonder we want a fresh start each new year. Looking over our shoulder, a stockpile of hours confronts us, each with its own particular 鈥渃ould鈥檃, should鈥檃, would鈥檃鈥檚鈥�. It鈥檚 a life-debt we can never pay, a debt to the self we wish we had been. Far easier to start again, and every January, many try.
Financial planners tell us to keep short accounts, to pay our debts as we go 鈥� weekly, monthly, yearly. Get into the habit, they say. Soon it鈥檒l become a way of life.
My renegade clock reminds me to do the same with my time. My life-debt doesn鈥檛 look so impossible if it鈥檚 only ankle deep 鈥� a moment or an hour. Sometimes I can go back. Some things can be undone.
I can apologize for not thinking before I spoke. I can run outside now and enjoy the breeze in my hair. I can hug her hello when she comes back. I can call and say I鈥檝e reconsidered.
Time is the most precious commodity God supplies us all. No one owns it. No one can kill it. It marches forward, whether or not my small timepiece conforms. All I鈥檓 permitted to do is use it. Wisely, I pray.
At the start of 2017, I pray you the resolve to keep your life-debts short, payable every hour, every day. And perhaps a backwards clock to remind you.
