Photo by Andrik Langfield on Unsplash
The first Saturday night in November is traditionally something of a party. We stay up a smidgen later, because we know the clock will roll back at 2:00am, and everyone will get an extra hour of sleep. Unless you have small children who will now rise at 4:00am. Or unless you work nights and suddenly have a 13 hour shift for 12 hours of pay.
This year, a bunch of us feel like those shift workers. Of all the years since the dawn of time, 2020 is one that does not deserve an extra hour. Can I get an “Amen”? Maybe January 2020 could have a few more minutes. Or a part of February. But 2020 didn’t make it through an entire quarter before it needed to be sent to its room for a Time Out.
Sometimes we say that we just want this year to be over. But our mother taught us to never wish our lives away. I suppose that also applies to this year’s time change.
Maybe in that extra hour, someone will scroll through social media, see a meme, and realize their need to be reconciled to God. Maybe a mother will give birth. Maybe a lover will find the nerve to send that text saying, “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
Maybe a scientist in a dark lab somewhere will pick up a test tube and suddenly discover the cure for all cancer. Or for the common cold. Which is a coronavirus, so, you know. Maybe that, too.
Maybe every moment is important in the whole scheme of things. Even the hard ones. Even the dark ones. Even the rolled back ones that make the night of a teething baby last longer.
I think it might be true. So, I’ll wander around our house on Saturday night and press all the buttons on all the appliances that aren’t smart enough to reset themselves. And, I’ll try to remember to thank God for another hour of life. Because every hour has endless possibilities.