It’s about Time

Lately I have been thinking about the measurement of time.  Maybe it’s because I’m getting older.  Ok, we’re all getting older.  What I meant was that I am probably in the final quarter of my life.  I am not upset about this, but it warrants thinking about.

Also, we went through daylight savings time not too long ago, here in Spain, or the end of daylight savings time.  I can never remember.  But, this blog is about time.

There have been adages and proverbs written about time.  “Time flies,” “Time heals all wounds,” “Time will tell,” “A stitch in time saves nine,” and  “Time is what keeps everything from happening all at once,” to name a few.

Time has been written about, thought about, philosophized, talked about, cried over and studied.  Time has been scientifically diagnosed for ages and I’m still not able to travel into the past to change the course of history.  But I do enjoy good time-travel novels and films and discussing them with my friends about how it is impossible to change the past because of the space time continuum.  I fantasize about it, never the less.  Imagine if we could?

I did not grow up in the digital era of telling time.  I learned, as a child, on an analog clock with hands.  Of course I was an adult when I realized the second hand on a clock or watch was not the 2^nd hand but actually showed the seconds passing.  I always thought it was the 3^rd hand not the 2^nd.  But that’s another story.  I think I’m glad I did not grow up learning to tell time on a digital clock.  I recently met some young people who did and they actually had a difficult time knowing what time it was when looking at my beautiful analog clock in my living room.  That and reading script.

I used to live in a country where telling time was distinctly different from the way it’s told in the U.S.A.  Ten-thirty (10:30) was half eleven and 10:35 is five minutes over half eleven.  When someone casually asked me what time it was, I tensed up, knowing that it will take me about five minutes to figure out how to say it.  And by the time I do, it’s five minutes later, so what’s the point?  Get a watch.

In England, ten-thirty is half ten.  England is just a hop, skip and a jump from Holland (where I used to live) and not only is there an hour difference in time zones but there is an hour difference in the mistake you can make when telling time.  Half ten in Holland is 9:30 and half ten in Great Britain is 10:30.  I recently saw a sit-com where an American fellow (not too bright) asked a British fellow what time they were meeting that night.  The British fellow answered, “Half ten.”   After a short pause, the American fellow said, “So you mean we’re meeting at five?”  Makes sense to me.  After all, five is half of ten.  And I’m no math genius.

Now I live in Spain.  Spanish is not as difficult as Dutch but they still use military time here.  But only for appointments.  So, if you have an appointment with your Dentist, its 14:00.  But if you’re meeting your friend for lunch, it’s 2:00 in the afternoon.

I also always wondered about Daylight Savings Time.  I can’t figure out why we do that and why some countries (and some States in the U.S.A.) don’t.  And wouldn’t that mess up everything in the space time continuum?  OK, maybe not.  But Daylight Savings Time only began about 100 years ago, during WWI.  And it started in Germany.  Crazy little Germany.  It caught on in the rest of the world, and poof!  DST began.  But not everywhere.  I just read about an office building in Minnesota, in 1963, where different floors of the building had different time zones (as some participated in DST and some not) because there were offices belonging to various counties. Yikes.  OK, that’s extreme, but I still don’t understand the advantage of Daylight Savings Time.  It just messes with our heads.

I also don’t understand why the 19^th century means the 1800’s.  Wouldn’t it be less confusing if the 19^th century were about the 1900’s?  Living in the 21^st century makes me feel like I should commute to work via jetpack and my vacations spent on Jupiter.  This should be called the 20^thcentury.  If not, it’s like saying I’m 71 when I’m really 70.  If a person just finishes their 70th year of life, then they’re 70!  That’s how it works people.  Welcome to the 20^th century.

The Bible also has some things to say about time.  There’s a beautiful passage in Ecclesiastes (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8) that Pete Seeger wrote music for when I was young (sung by the Byrds).  I know that those of you who are close to my age are singing it right now.  Turn, Turn, Turn.  The song is almost an exact adaptation of the Scripture.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

In the New Testament, Paul also writes to the believers at Ephesus and told them to “Redeem the time because the days are evil.”  (Ephesians 5:16).  I actually always thought that was a little funny – redeem the time.  Redeem means to buy back and you just can’t redeem the time.  When it’s gone, it’s gone. But in a more modern translation it reads that we should “make the most of our time” or “make the most of every opportunity.”  Definitely a more reasonable request.  Don’t we all wish we could buy back time?  C’est la vie.  Or should I say, tel est la temps.  As if I speak French.

So, all this to say; time is a precious commodity while we are on this earth.  It’s more important than money, career, material or otherwise gain.  That’s because you cannot buy it back or recoup it.  So make the most of your time, doing things that matter, doing things that help people and make them and their circumstances better.  

Well, it’s about time, don’t you think?

Lately I have been thinking about the measurement of time.  Maybe it’s because I’m getting older.  Ok, we’re all getting older.  What I meant was that I am probably in the final quarter of my life.  I am not upset about this, but it warrants thinking about.

Also, we went through daylight savings time not too long ago, here in Spain, or the end of daylight savings time.  I can never remember.  But, this blog is about time.

There have been adages and proverbs written about time.  “Time flies,” “Time heals all wounds,” “Time will tell,” “A stitch in time saves nine,” and  “Time is what keeps everything from happening all at once,” to name a few.

Time has been written about, thought about, philosophized, talked about, cried over and studied.  Time has been scientifically diagnosed for ages and I’m still not able to travel into the past to change the course of history.  But I do enjoy good time-travel novels and films and discussing them with my friends about how it is impossible to change the past because of the space time continuum.  I fantasize about it, never the less.  Imagine if we could?

I did not grow up in the digital era of telling time.  I learned, as a child, on an analog clock with hands.  Of course I was an adult when I realized the second hand on a clock or watch was not the 2^nd hand but actually showed the seconds passing.  I always thought it was the 3^rd hand not the 2^nd.  But that’s another story.  I think I’m glad I did not grow up learning to tell time on a digital clock.  I recently met some young people who did and they actually had a difficult time knowing what time it was when looking at my beautiful analog clock in my living room.  That and reading script.

I used to live in a country where telling time was distinctly different from the way it’s told in the U.S.A.  Ten-thirty (10:30) was half eleven and 10:35 is five minutes over half eleven.  When someone casually asked me what time it was, I tensed up, knowing that it will take me about five minutes to figure out how to say it.  And by the time I do, it’s five minutes later, so what’s the point?  Get a watch.

In England, ten-thirty is half ten.  England is just a hop, skip and a jump from Holland (where I used to live) and not only is there an hour difference in time zones but there is an hour difference in the mistake you can make when telling time.  Half ten in Holland is 9:30 and half ten in Great Britain is 10:30.  I recently saw a sit-com where an American fellow (not too bright) asked a British fellow what time they were meeting that night.  The British fellow answered, “Half ten.”   After a short pause, the American fellow said, “So you mean we’re meeting at five?”  Makes sense to me.  After all, five is half of ten.  And I’m no math genius.

Now I live in Spain.  Spanish is not as difficult as Dutch but they still use military time here.  But only for appointments.  So, if you have an appointment with your Dentist, its 14:00.  But if you’re meeting your friend for lunch, it’s 2:00 in the afternoon.

I also always wondered about Daylight Savings Time.  I can’t figure out why we do that and why some countries (and some States in the U.S.A.) don’t.  And wouldn’t that mess up everything in the space time continuum?  OK, maybe not.  But Daylight Savings Time only began about 100 years ago, during WWI.  And it started in Germany.  Crazy little Germany.  It caught on in the rest of the world, and poof!  DST began.  But not everywhere.  I just read about an office building in Minnesota, in 1963, where different floors of the building had different time zones (as some participated in DST and some not) because there were offices belonging to various counties. Yikes.  OK, that’s extreme, but I still don’t understand the advantage of Daylight Savings Time.  It just messes with our heads.

I also don’t understand why the 19^th century means the 1800’s.  Wouldn’t it be less confusing if the 19^th century were about the 1900’s?  Living in the 21^st century makes me feel like I should commute to work via jetpack and my vacations spent on Jupiter.  This should be called the 20^thcentury.  If not, it’s like saying I’m 71 when I’m really 70.  If a person just finishes their 70th year of life, then they’re 70!  That’s how it works people.  Welcome to the 20^th century.

The Bible also has some things to say about time.  There’s a beautiful passage in Ecclesiastes (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8) that Pete Seeger wrote music for when I was young (sung by the Byrds).  I know that those of you who are close to my age are singing it right now.  Turn, Turn, Turn.  The song is almost an exact adaptation of the Scripture.

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

In the New Testament, Paul also writes to the believers at Ephesus and told them to “Redeem the time because the days are evil.”  (Ephesians 5:16).  I actually always thought that was a little funny – redeem the time.  Redeem means to buy back and you just can’t redeem the time.  When it’s gone, it’s gone. But in a more modern translation it reads that we should “make the most of our time” or “make the most of every opportunity.”  Definitely a more reasonable request.  Don’t we all wish we could buy back time?  C’est la vie.  Or should I say, tel est la temps.  As if I speak French.

So, all this to say; time is a precious commodity while we are on this earth.  It’s more important than money, career, material or otherwise gain.  That’s because you cannot buy it back or recoup it.  So make the most of your time, doing things that matter, doing things that help people and make them and their circumstances better.  

Well, it’s about time, don’t you think?

What does home mean to you? Is it a place where you grew up, where you live now, or where you want to be? Is it a person who makes you feel loved, a feeling that gives you comfort, or a sense of belonging that fills your heart? You might have heard some quotes or adages about home that give you a warm feeling. For example, “Home sweet home”, “Home is where the heart is”, or “There’s no place like home”. But what if home is not something that you can easily define or find? What if home is a fluid thing, an elusive concept? That’s how I feel about home. In my lifetime (70 years) I have moved 30 times. As an adult (after age 21) I have moved 26 times. Now, I am living in Spain in a lovely apartment for a little over a year. The fluidity of “home” has brought me to the conclusion that I have no home. This is a sobering thought.

The funny thing is, I have always been a homesick person. Ever since I was young, I would cry if I had to leave my parents. I can remember going to Girl Scout camp and feeling hysterical when my mother was about to leave. She couldn’t leave me, so the first night she stayed and I slept in the car with her. I can’t remember if I stayed at the camp or if she left. All I can remember is the terror and sorrow of being homesick. When I left for college, I cried the first week there; I missed home so greatly. Now get this – I was a children’s evangelist for almost 30 years. I would stay a week at one place, then drive to the next and stay a week and so on and so on. At the end of the week I would feel some level of homesickness because I was leaving something familiar. Even now, I still get homesick when I have to leave a place or a person. But what “home” am I sick for? I don’t know.

I suppose if my parents were still alive, I would consider their house my home. But they both passed in the mid 1990’s. And I realize it’s not always a place you might be homesick for. It might be a person, a feeling, a comfort, or a sense of belonging. But I am missing home and I want to go there. Sometimes I wonder if home is something that exists only in my memory, or in my imagination. Maybe home is a collage of all the places and people that I have loved and lost, or that I have left and longed for. Maybe home is a mosaic of all the experiences and emotions that have shaped me and changed me. Maybe home is a kaleidoscope of all the colors and patterns that have brightened and darkened my life.

A few years ago, when the mass exodus of middle-eastern people was happening in Europe, I was living in The Netherlands.  Thousands of refugees from Iran, Iraq and Afghanistan made their way across Europe and many found their ways to The Netherlands.  Our church welcomed them, helped them and provided for them.  Oh, the government in The Netherlands did a great job in a lot of ways, but many churches rose up to help meet the demand.  Needless to say, our church went through a bit of a metamorphosis.  We added services, translators, held classes, made meals and gave general social aid to help the refugees feel at home in a new country.

There were several people who stopped coming to church.  These people were Dutch people who had been coming for years, even decades.  There was one young couple (relative to my age) who left.  We were friends so I asked them honestly, why did you leave?  The answer?  It just doesn’t feel like home anymore.

I said to them, “it’s not supposed to feel like home.  It’s a church and it’s doing what a church is supposed to do.”  I don’t know where they are now, but I hope they feel at home.

So, what is home?  Someone asked me if I was going home for Christmas this year.  First of all, I had to remind them that I’m Jewish and my family does not celebrate Christmas, but after that reminder, I asked, “Where is home?”

I have two sisters and several cousins whom I love very much.  Most of them have children and grandchildren whom I love very much.  I have many friends and some for many years whom I genuinely love.  But home?  I would certainly be intruding if I stayed there any longer than a few days.

Is it possible that my homesickness is due to missing heaven, my eternal home?  How can I miss someplace I’ve never been?  But will that be the place that will feel like home?  I hope so, because I am so homesick.  I just want to go home.