Untick, Untock

Do you ever wish you could just turn back the hands of time and have a few do-overs? I know, I know, that's not how life is intended, and for the most part I wouldn't really want it that way. We're not made to look at life through a rearview mirror or walk through life backwards. If we were we would have eyes in the backs of our heads as well as in the fronts, right? (Have you ever wondered why God didn't put eyes all the way around our heads so we could see in all directions at once?)

Still . . . when life whirls around too fast, and I'm not getting as much done as I need to do, sometimes I think Could we please just start this day over again? I'd like to have another run at it. I think I could do it better this time. Do you ever do that?

Most often I remember really special times with really special people in really special places, and I catch myself wishing I could just do those over again. Sunsets on that glorious Alaskan cruise. Sunrises over the mist-shrouded glens of Scotland. Riding on the rowdy bus with forty choir members through the emerald green landscapes of Ireland. Standing on an arched bridge over International Boulevard in Geneva, Switzerland, looking at the flags of all the nations of earth, singing "Love In Any Language." Ah . . . sweet memories.

When I fall into those reflective moods, I write poetry. I'm not saying it's great poetry (maybe not even good poetry); Shakespeare certainly doesn't have to worry about his place in history; it's just mine. One of those poems--a 16-line sonnet--expresses my thoughts on this subject and a particular moment about twenty-five years ago when I first met my best friend for all these years. Perhaps you can relate to it.

Time Retreat

Why can't yon clock take backward flight?

Why prod and push me day and night?

Why hurry me 'til worn I sigh

And onward march me 'til I die?

Instead, twist hands now right to left;

Tomorrow's dulled ears be deaf!

Let future's family mourn bereft;

Store glistening hopes on musty shelf.

Retreat, retreat to joys again,

Erasing moments scathed by sin,

Eliminating might-have-been,

Retracing paths of noble men.

Untick, untock, untick, untock

To that sweet moment on the clock

When first I found my precious friend,

And never forward tick again.

Copyright 1981, Mary Hollingsworth. All rights reserved. Contact: MCHWriter@aol.com.

What's my point? Savor the special moments of your life. Taste them, feel them, hold them in your heart, glue them into your mind like photographs in a scrapbook. They may not come along again. Life is good. Live it well, love it deeply, share it with those who walk through it with you day by day. And every step of the way hold on to the hand of the One who gave it to you to enjoy.

Blessings, Mary

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