whitney nesse deep roots

Sept. 20 marks my 36th birthday and the day which tallies the beginning of a new year for me.  Each year when the days shorten, the mornings become brisk and the dew lays more heavily on the landscape, I become acutely aware of the passage of time. I can not slow time down nor speed it up … it just passes. Like the ticking of a metronome for a musician, time is the rhythm for life. There are seasons which seem to last forever and seasons that rush past in a blur. Yet the tempo, the ticking of time, never changes.    

Every now and then, throughout my children’s first day of school, I would be overcome with emotion. My eyes would well up and the tears would spill out. I was neither happy or sad, I was merely conscious of the reality that my children are no longer babies. I was conscious of the passing of time.

With the passage of time my children become more independent, able bodied and mature in thought and stature. I am watching them become wonderful individuals who have much to offer.  I am thrilled with the fun, intelligent conversation which can be had with my children now. Yet I miss the sounds of babbling toddlers that filled my home not so long ago. I am grateful I still have some years before any of my children will be out of the house. I look forward to watching them continue to grow and mature. I recognize time with an excited sadness. Never speeding up, never slowing down, ever present and ever fleeting. 

A quick glance into a mirror also reminds me that the clock has never ceased to tick. Silver hairs are starting to replace the brown ones and a smile reveals my crows feet. I have to stop and question myself: Am I becoming vain? Or does the mirror reflect time?

I find that I no longer have the ability to do some things as easily as I did in my early 20’s. My back constantly reminds me of an old injury. Yet the number of tools I’ve gained in the toolbox of my mind and heart, in wisdom and experience through failures and successes is a treasure. I look forward to picking up more tools as time plods on — with hopes the successes outweigh the failures. 

Time is not a commodity which can be bought, sold or traded. It can be neither created nor destroyed. Time is a gift which can be looked at as either a blessing or a curse. I suppose that choice is left to the individual.

I like the term “classic”when it comes to passing time. Classic can be defined as both typical and remarkable, a subject of study and a work of art. As I turn my calendar, tally another year, and watch my kids grow all while listening to the monotonous metronome of time, my hope is for this year to be classic — remarkable, typical, a subject to study and a work of art.

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.  He has planted eternity in the human heart...So I concluded there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can.  Ecclesiastes 3:11-12    

Whitney Nesse is a sixth-generation livestock farmer who is deeply rooted in her faith and family. She writes from her central Minnesota farm.   

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