Monday Morning Musing: Time is a Thief

Last weekend I officiated at the wedding of a young man I've known since he was about nine years old. He was a sweet kid then and he's a sweet 'kid' now, an oncology nurse and an attentive son and, to witness the bond with his friends, a loyal and true friend. As it happened, I accidentally had a hidden vantage point before the ceremony from where I witnessed their first look and the personal vows they spoke to one another. At that tender moment, the thought flew to mind: Time is a Thief.

Where does that saying come from, I asked my Beloved.

An instant Google search gave me the answer.

It turns out that there are a number of quotes that employ this common phrase. Clive Cussler wrote: “Time is a thief. It steals our memory, our hopes, and our strength, leaving only the sense there’s never enough of it.” J.R. Moehringer, in the novel Sutton, wrote: “Time is a thief, but he's not subtle. He's a thug. And youth is a little old lady walking through the park with a pocketbook full of cash. You want to avoid being like youth? You want to keep time from robbing you? Hold on for dear life, boys. When time tries to snatch something from you, just grab tighter. Don't let go. That's what memory is. Not letting go.”

As I stood at the windows, overlooking the lovely landscape that held the almost newly wed, a bright red cardinal swooped in front of me. Alone, which is rare, as cardinals travel in pairs, always with their mates. I love cardinals. They are said to bring messages of good news, some say from the life after this one.

I would learn later that evening that a beloved friend had died earlier in the day. She was in her nineties and pain had been her constant companion for some time. Her daughter in law called me to tell me and we talked and shared stories and cried. Mary was beloved by many; she was the rare one who would not try to solve your heartache, but would hold it gently and tell you how sorry she was and pour you some tea. She loved to set a beautiful table and create and send beautiful cards filled with sweet sentiments. She cherished art and music and family and friends. She loved a good, sometimes naughty, joke. She was a healer by vocation and simply by who she was. She had lived generously, even in hard and difficult seasons. I was lucky enough to have been her pastor, her colleague, and her friend. Deep blessings in it all.

Mary had lived for a time in her life in the Midwest. She loved birds, but her favorite was the bright red cardinal. Maybe, just maybe she was winging by with one final I love you as I stood at that window, pondering all that time has stolen from us and all that it never will.