Mixed Blessings - As Time Goes By

By Deborah Ann Porter

As Time Goes By, we learn to value the gift of each new today.

Inside Mixed Blessings—As Time Goes By, you’ll find one-hundred-and-one perfectly bite-sized stories, articles, devotions, and poems, on these ten time-related topics:

• Minutes
• 24-Hours
• Weeks

• Language: English
• Publisher: Breath of Fresh Air Press
• Release date: Nov 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9781922135445

Book preview

Introduction

Like sand through an hourglass . . . the passage of time is one constant in our lives. When we were young, there was always too much of it. Remember how long the school year seemed to last? Oh, and what about that countdown to Christmas? It felt like it would never come.

Then, as we grow older, the days and weeks slip away like phantom breezes in the summertime. It’s as though the chronometer of our lives has been set to full throttle. Where did that day go? is my regular lament.

Whether we waste it or save it, time on this earth continues its relentless march toward the future.

It was the idea of capturing elusive time that spurred us to develop the theme for this Mixed Blessings book. We issued the challenged to the members of FaithWriters to explore ten facets of time, everything from minutes through to eternity. From over one thousand submissions, we found the very best to share with you in this anthology.

Mixed Blessings – As Time Goes By is a perfect blend of one-hundred-and-one stories, articles, and poems, by fifty talented writers, each bringing their own unique view and creativity to ten time-themed topics: Minutes, 24 Hours, Weeks, Seasons, Years, Centuries, Era, Time-Consuming, Once in a Blue Moon, and Eternity.

There’s always something for every Christian reader in a Mixed Blessings book, and that remains true for As Time Goes By. You’ll find an abundance of smiles, tears, encouragement, inspiration, and food for thought packed into every page.

So take time out of all the busyness of life to relax with the variety found in Mixed Blessings – As Time Goes By. It definitely won’t be a waste of time. Enjoy!

Deb Porter

Writing Challenge Coordinator

FaithWriters.com

Table of Contents

Introduction

Minutes

The Warning

My Shattered City

Peripeteia

Miracle Minutes,Momentous Moments

Moment for Eternity

Love Letter

You’re Mine

Trivial Things

The Next to the Last Minute

Pride Goes Before a Fall

24 Hours

What I’d Like to Tape to Mark’s Forehead

Redemption

Fairy Tale Clothing

Gather You the Rosebuds

Raw Skin

The Chimes of Time

God’s Plans

Shift Change

Bird Watching in Shifts

My Day of All Days

Weeks

The Halfpenny Secret

Blindsided

Stupidity

Katie

Which Armor

Pickling

The How To Monologue

The Lion’s Share

Tom

The Holy Day of Monday

Seasons

Tending Grief’s Garden

The Stickin’ Times

Refinishing Well

Autumn of the Age

Rain Drop

An Epiphany Seed

The Time of the Singing of Birds

Poetic Tenacity

The Wheels of Life Go Round and Round

The End

Years

Before I Wake

The Little Soldier

After the Fatted Calf

Old Friends

Seared

8,760 Hours

Your Gift to Soar

Biblical Proportions

Sound Measurements

Letting Go

Centuries

Forevermore

Adam’s Lament

The Palm of Madagascar

Artifact of the Centuries

Deliverance

The Arz ar-Rabb (Cedars of God)

Rookie Mistake

I Hain’t Got Long to Stay Here

Age—It’s Relative

A Reason to Smile

In Lilacs and Violets

Era

Hello Dear, Have We Met?

The Miracle Cure

Because He Says

A Distant Green

Straw Men

Through All the Changing Scenes of Life

Appointment With Time and Tide

The Last Goodbye

Nearly, Nearly Faded Gone

Nothing Short of Miraculous

Time-Consuming

On the Far Side of Finished

The Plan

A Matter of Minutes

Russian Roulette in the Trenches

Soak In It

Time With Tabitha

Eating Time

One Drop at a Time

Music Room Musings

Tedious Tresses

Once in a Blue Moon

I’m Not That Girl

But on This Morn

An Early Winter

A Shrunken World

Day of the Long Star

Another Chance

The Day Universal Goodness Died

Jimmy Takes a Shower

Not Just Any Night

His Heavy Hand of Opportunity

Eternity

Eight Everlastin’ Seconds

The Gift

A Desert Meditation

Finders Reapers

An Open Door

Getting to the End Zone

High Priority

A Time to Face Eternity

Are Memories Eternal

One Man’s Word for the World

Meet Our Authors

As Time Goes By Contributors

Part One

Minutes

The Warning

Steve Fitschen

OK, Thompson, I’ll give you one minute to think about what you want to do.

Franklin walked into the hallway, slamming my office door behind him. Through the glass panel, I saw him pull out his cell phone and place a call. He was probably calling it. Great.

Ever since the Revolution, it guys weren’t what they used to be. Now they came in pairs. One was still a computer geek, but the other carried a Taser and a gun. If they found what they were looking for, it wasn’t good. Just this month, three managers had been hauled off and one vp shot at his desk. I can’t believe any of them gave me up, but here Franklin was outside my office.

Could I do it? I looked at Franklin through the glass. His back was turned to me. I had to try.

Of course, I never kept any emails. And I had been smart enough to keep all the documents in one folder. If I could navigate my way to that folder, and if the computer could delete everything fast enough, I might be all right. At least I had to try.

I looked up. Franklin still had his back turned.

If I could just do this fast enough, the it guys wouldn’t find anything when they did their first check of my hard drive. I don’t know what they do after that. I don’t know whether they keep you in custody or under surveillance while they run the more sophisticated programs that could capture deleted data. But at least the chance existed that I could get out of the building. I didn’t dare think about life on the run. My minute was already half gone.

I didn’t dare think about anything. Roger had given me an envelope. He said I should open it immediately if this day ever came, but I couldn’t think about that now. I had to concentrate. I had to make sure I got rid of the damning folder. It was up to the computer now. Would it delete everything in time? I looked at the screen. I looked at Franklin. I looked at the screen again. Ninety-eight percent. I looked at Franklin again. He was moving toward the door.

I felt like I was going to faint. Stay calm!

So what did you decide?

There was nothing to decide. I haven’t been involved in those activities, so there’s nothing to hide.

Franklin just stared.

I guess that was it you were talking to.

No, I wanted you to think I was talking to it. I was on the phone with Security. Franklin pointed to the picture on the wall. There’s a micro-video recorder hidden in the frame. Security saw you dumping those files. We know it was all your Christian garbage.

I tried to look calm. I failed. I couldn’t control the sweating. My heart pounded. So now what? I couldn’t keep the tremble from my voice.

Now . . . nothing. We’ve learned, since the Revolution, that if you’re willing to lie about being a Christian, you’re no threat. Congratulations. You used your minute to save your life. Franklin smirked as he walked out.

I slumped back in my chair and stared at nothing.

Then I remembered Roger’s envelope. I pulled it out of the drawer where I had hidden it and slit it open. I unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. On it was a verse of Scripture in Roger’s handwriting:

For whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it.¹

* * *

¹Mark 8:35 King James Version of the Bible

My Shattered City

Debbie Roome

One minute.

That’s all it took to shatter my city.

It was an average day, people going about their normal daily business: children at school, friends meeting for lunch, coffee shops crowded, streets busy, buskers entertaining.

Then it started; a rumble and a shake as the earth flexed its muscles. People stopped and looked at each other. Was it just a tremor?

The answer came as the motion accelerated violently, vibrating and shaking. Screams split the air, punctuating the roar of falling bricks and crashing concrete. Homes broke in two, buildings collapsed, towers teetered, and dust filled lungs. As the shaking continued, liquefaction erupted; silt burst to the surface and murky rivers flooded streets. Pipes twisted, roads cracked, tarmac distorted, and paving sunk. High above the suburbs, cliff faces cracked and boulders tumbled, crushing, destroying.

Oh God, where are You? How can this be happening?

For a terrible moment, the city froze – 400,000 people in shocked limbo. Then terror unleashed itself. Alarms shrieked, buildings groaned, people wailed and scrabbled at rubble where loved ones had stood a moment earlier. The injured limped to open areas, blood streaming, features twisted in pain.

God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble. Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.¹

In the space of a minute, our lives were irrevocably changed. Landscapes shifted, hills rose, buildings fell, dreams shattered. A violent monster wreaked havoc in our midst. Images of devastation and death were seared into minds, and brutal loss was burned in our hearts forever.

After the wind there was an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.²

One minute:

200 dead

Countless injured

100,000 homes damaged

10,000 homes destroyed

Infrastructures shattered

One-third of the cbd ruined

Towers toppled

Famous icons broken

Businesses gone

Schools annihilated

Security lost

The city is left in ruins, its gate is battered to pieces . . . the earth is broken up, the earth is split asunder, the earth is violently shaken. The earth reels like a drunkard. ³

Oh Lord, our hearts are broken at this terrible thing that has befallen our city. Memories are woven amongst the ruins of places where we worked . . . and worshiped . . . and played. Many of these places have become tombs and remind us that loved ones no longer stand by our sides.

The loss of so many lives – people of every age, people from many nations – has brought us to our knees. Have mercy on us as we, the people of New Zealand, mourn as a nation, as we join hands with each other, our humanity binding us together. Remind us that this too shall pass . . . and give us courage and hope as we rise up and rebuild.

And the Lord whispered and said, I will never leave you, nor forsake you.

One minute.

That’s all it took.

* * *

Written in the aftermath of the earthquake that devastated the Canterbury region of New Zealand, including the City of Christchurch, on February 22, 2011.

¹ Psalm 46:1-2

² 1 Kings 19:11-12

³ Isaiah 24:12, 19-20

Peripeteia

Michael Throne

Three twenty-seven.

I stare at the ceiling. In truth, there isn’t any reason to be awake, but I am.

I try not to move much. I don’t want to wake Kate up.

Turning my head, I watch her sleep.

We had an argument earlier today, Kate and I. It was over some petty little nothing of a matter, and was over before I knew it. She threw her hands up and said, Whatever. It was just a little . . . different.

I guess we all feel that way sometimes. Whatever.

I let out a long breath of air.

Three twenty-seven.

Normally, our arguments have a nice pattern. They build for a while. They escalate. We’re both so sure we’re right, so absolutely certain. They build slowly, powerfully, with certainty, until the fuse finally runs out and we explode, yelling, screaming, calling each other names, and even throwing things, if we’ve been drinking.

But not this time.

I glance at the clock. Three twenty-seven.

It’s been three twenty-seven forever.

I don’t know. I guess it’s been like this since we were dating. It never even occurred to me to try to change.

But this was different. It wasn’t anger; it was like, well . . . like giving up.

Whatever.

I watch her sleep. Her mouth is wide open. She’d be snoring, if she had it in her. Her pretty brown hair lay scattered on the pillow.

We’ve never hit each other. I’ll give us that much, anyway. Even when we throw things, and it’s not that often, we’re such bad shots there’s not much chance of anything actually landing. Oh . . . well . . . I guess there was that one time, when a plate I threw bounced off the refrigerator and caught the bridge of her nose, but that was a deflection.

It shocked us both.

I close my eyes.

We stopped then and there, when that plate hit her. It’s one thing to throw things, it’s another thing altogether for someone to get hurt. When it hit, we just kind of stood there, stunned. I think we were both amazed that one of us could actually touch the other, much less hurt them.

I stare at the clock.

Three twenty-eight.

I don’t know. Maybe this isn’t healthy, all this drinking and arguing. The look in her eyes tonight, it wasn’t hate, not exactly. It was weariness; indifference, maybe. She didn’t say much, but I could see it.

Like when that plate hit her. We both knew it was time to quit.

I pull the covers up and try to clear my mind.

I try, but it doesn’t take.

Three twenty-eight.

I miss her some days. Like when I’m on the job, making deliveries, and we’ve had a big fight the night before, and maybe even called each other names – wicked, vicious names. Some mornings, I can’t even remember what all we’d said.

I want to call her, but I can’t. I just can’t.

Some things a man can’t get past, like saying he’s sorry, even when he is.

I turn back over and watch her sleep, watch her looking so peaceful. It’s hard not to love her like this. Kind of like how little girls love their dolls, maybe. They can make them think and say whatever they want.

I love you. I can almost hear her whispering it.

I try to go back to sleep. I try to forget every truth I’ve ever learned and go back to sleep. I’m always so certain.

Maybe I’m wrong.

Maybe I’m wrong, yet again.

I close my eyes for an eternity then open them again.

Three twenty-eight.

Her sister’s been telling her to leave me for years. I didn’t even want her at the wedding. Figured that when the preacher asked if anyone objected, she’d jump right up and give a list of reasons.

But she didn’t.

She said afterward she should have, and she was right, though I didn’t admit it.

I look at Kate, her long, brown hair draped across her face.

I can’t get back to sleep. I don’t know how to fix it.

Whatever.

It’s etched on her soul; I can feel it. It’s just a matter of time until she leaves.

A matter of time.

Kate opens an eye.

I’m sorry, I say.

I know.

She closes her eyes. I roll back over and try to sleep.

Three twenty-nine.

I love you.

I say it in my mind, again and again.

But each time, I hear her reply.

Whatever.

Miracle Minutes,Momentous Moments

Margaret Kearley

His hands dipped in the water cool,

Siloam’s Pool,

The muddy clay

Dispersed in spray.

In faith, he’d trusted as he heard

The Savior’s Word.

And color swirled

From his black world.

Dazzling designs of glowing hue,

Burst on his view,

Glorious light,

The gift of sight.

The howling wind whipped surf of height,

With angry might.

The vessel tossed

And all seemed lost.

Bewildered sailors battled long,

With hope nigh gone,

Near to despair,

Did Jesus care?

All nature answers His decree,

The storm and sea

Obey His will,

His Peace, be still.

They watched their child as illness reigned

And color drained,

Her labored breath,

Herald of death.

"O Master come, do not delay,

Make haste today."

Alas, too late,

Too long, the wait.

Now see the grieving family weep

At death, not sleep,

Till Jesus cries:

Young maid, arise.

The pressing crowd, the busy throng

Had stayed so long.

Their hunger grew,

Their weakness too.

And He, concerned, who loveth much

With just a touch,

Took fish and bread,

Their hunger fed.

And still, with mercy from above,

In grace and love,

Our small supplies

He multiplies.

He died for crime, a sad life lost,

He paid the cost,

Hung on a tree,

In misery.

The Perfect One hung by His side,

Too, crucified.

"Lord, turn and see,

Remember me."

"For you I die, I pay the price.

And Paradise

You’ll see today,

I Am the Way."

All these knew burdens hard to bear,

A weight of care

That heavy lay,

Day after day.

Then came a moment rich in grace,

They saw His face,

He knew their need,

Such love indeed.

Each believed and trusted God’s own Son,

And knew in one

Minute of time,

Joy full, sublime.

One minute, too, He rescued me

And set me free

From guilt and sin

Reigning within.

He made me His, His own dear child,

Loved, reconciled,

With Him to be

Eternally.

Till then, each minute, let me give

For Him to live

His Life in me,

Abundantly!

Moment for Eternity

Timmy Boyle

Sometimes we only have a moment. Sometimes even less. What a person does with that brief window of opportunity can speak volumes about the individual . . .

. . . and make a world of difference in the lives of others.

What would your moment say about you?

How would your moment help others?

What could you do in one minute?

Imagine if you only had one minute to share the essence of all the wisdom you’ve accumulated over your years?

What if you were given a mere sixty seconds to put the keys of life into the hands of someone just starting out?

What would you say?

I know what I’d say . . . now.

You see, today I asked myself the above questions, and to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure how I would use my moment. So, full of curiosity, I set the timer on my phone for sixty seconds, started the countdown, and without any time to fully process my thoughts, began typing.

It was an amazing exercise.

The following is what I wrote before the beep signaled the end of my minute. After looking it over, I’m pretty convinced my minute is packed with an eternity of wisdom:

Keep on laughin’.

Carpe diem.

In