Strange, isn't it? How is it that girls carrying my DNA are so completely different from me in their likes and dislikes? I suppose some of it is generationally driven. Analog is out; my grandkids' generation is all digital. From iPods to watches, everything hums almost silently. When the grandkids spend the night, Alex, Abi and Izzi claim the Millstone Room for the duration. Inevitably, before hitting the sack, I find lying on the kitchen counter the hand carved wall clock that normally resides on the wall under the stagecoach light. Its steady tick-tick-ticking bothers Abi and Izzi, keeping them awake. Alex on the other hand, could sleep through a hurricane.
To me, it's a soothing sound. I love old clocks! My great-grandmother's 1880's era Victorian Gilbert Mecca on the baker's cupboard competes with the turn of the century cast-iron Ansonia on the living room secretary, while the 1920's schoolroom clock hangs silent on the wall waiting for me to fix its pendulum. In the garage is the grandfather clock given me by a friend whose son rescued it from a house fire. It has smoke damage, the glass is shattered, but the cabinet escaped serious damage, and I'm hoping over the winter to restore it to operational status once again. Even with my limited hearing and the constant ringing in my ears, I can hear the chiming of the hour as these wonderful old timepieces ring out downstairs.
Their steady tick-tocking reminds me that life is a moment-by-moment gift; each tick-tock is a moment in time that once gone, will never come my way again. These clocks are definitely old-school; they require attention. Forget to wind them, and they stop. If the pendulum isn't adjusted correctly, they will run fast or slow. If they are just a little off level, they keep a faulty time with a halting tick-tock, tick-tock, again a parable of the attentiveness necessary to live a life of honor and integrity, in time with God himself. When I fail to attend to life, things get out of whack pretty quickly. Life isn't a "wind up and let it go" affair.
The Bible tells us that our times are in God's hands (Psalm 31:15). Given my family DNA, barring tragic accident, I fully expect to live well into my nineties, perhaps longer, but none of us know for sure which tick-tock will be our last. I hope to listen to the gentle rhythmic sound of those clocks for years to come, and I'll give thanks to the Time-Keeper for each tick-tock I get to hear.
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