Paul's parents gave us a grandfather clock on our first Christmas. The clock has a beautiful chime and has always taken a prominent place in our home. Walking and crying through the somber house after Paul' passed away I looked at the hands of the clock on the wall - quietly moving - incrementally rolling forward - and I could not bear it. I opened the glass door and reverently moved the hands back to the very minute Paul passed. 12:45 am. July 21, 2009. I stopped the pendelum from swinging and dropping my eyes, closed the glass. Nobody knew but me.
Time stopped at the moment he died.
Every day for the last 2 months I have walked passed that grandfather clock. 12:45 am. That moment will forever be etched in my soul. That was the moment that Paul met Jesus face to face - that was the moment I sobbed on his chest and prayed with his mother at his bedside. That moment was undoubtably a moment of complete surrender for Paul and I. We'd fought a fight together and won. He was free.
Today though is a new day for me and in a very private way I need to be free as well. Today I will buy a new battery and with all of the respect and admiration and gratefulness in my heart, I will again put the pendelum in motion. Not to dishonor the moment Paul died - but to honor the moments he lived.
The clock on the wall tells me it is time to breathe, it is time to laugh, it is time to love, it is time to grow, time to set goals, time to create. The clock is of little use if it does not keep time.
In all reality we cannot still time. For in all of our pain, God's character proves faithful - time continues to flow like a river - as does the graceful healing that sets us free.
It's 10:13 on September 25, 2009. And it's time to move forward.
Where is your clock stuck? Where were your moments of surrender - where were your moments of loss? And what hands do you need to put back in motion? It is time.