time and time

Yesterday was a dark, damp, dreary and miserable day. Despite working on a sewing project (which I love to do!) I managed to find myself kinda cranky. Some things in the back of my mind were not moving in any way that I wanted them to, and I felt behind in the world outside my sewing room door. In retrospect, those things meant very little, but at the time, in those chilled toes moments, they loomed large. At one point, with frustration at the time slipping away, I asked for a little relief. "Lord, let me know what I'm supposed to do about this timing. Please!" The next song on the radio made me cry, as it usually does, and immediately after it, I got an email telling me not to worry about the timing. (Seriously!)
That's really the lesson I've been working on. I'm sure of it because it became a theme for the day. The more I try to control or gauge the timing of things I think I have control over, the more they seem to frustrate me. Or worse, go awry. At least in my mind. And I'm finding my mind is a very crowded and confusing place at times.
Much later in the day, talking with my therapist, I mentioned that I admire his confidence in me and my progress, because I have a hard time knowing that I'm getting anywhere. We talked about time then, and the fact that there is no reason for a minute to contain 60 seconds, or even for a second to be the length of a Mississippi (which is pretty ironic, actually). It's all arbitrary and man-made -- because of our human need to to try to exert control. He then reminded me of all the beautiful readings in the last few weeks about time. God's time.
And that God's time is perfect.
And I am (wondrously) not.
When I give things over to God's time, beautiful things happen. I still must do my part -- practice new skills, step out of old habits, stand and speak (perhaps) where I haven't before -- but with God's grace, I am able to grow in His love into the woman I am intended to be. This morning I am more aware that I am not there yet, but with a clearer view of the journey, as well as the destination. Some parts will be difficult, painful or frightening, but only to me. As part of something bigger, I will not only endure them, but 'see' them. They are building blocks.
Two people I go to for guidance, and who sometimes have differing viewpoints on where I'm headed, gave me the same thoughts this week: What is the purpose of this painful/difficult experience/memory? How is it building me? What is it, Lord, that you need me to glean from it?
Time. Patience. Growth. Progress. Love. All words with meaning far more expansive than our definitions can ever be.