The Way Time Feels Lately

I’ve been noticing something I can’t quite explain.

Time doesn’t feel the same.

Some days move quickly —
full, busy, gone before I realize it.

And other days stretch in a way that feels almost unfamiliar.

Longer.
Quieter.
Heavier in a way that isn’t obvious, but still there.

Nothing about the clock has changed.

But the way I experience it has.

There are moments that pass without much thought.
And then there are moments that linger —
that I can feel while I’m inside them.

Not because anything big is happening.

Just because I’m more aware.

Of where I am.
Of what I’m carrying.
Of how different things feel than they used to.

I don’t know if time is actually moving differently
or if I’m just paying attention in a way I didn’t before.

But I can tell something has shifted.

I’m not rushing through everything the same way.
I’m not trying to get to the next thing as quickly.

I’m noticing more.

Even the in-between parts.

The parts of the day that don’t really have a name.

And maybe that’s what this is.

Not a change in time.

Just a change in how I’m living inside of it.


“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
— Psalm 90:12 (NIV)

The Space Between

This evening begins 6 days —
144 hours.
8,640 minutes

without my whole heart with me.

That number makes my chest tighten a little.

None of this timing was mine to choose.
The plans were made. The schedule laid out.
And I’ve been quietly dreading it ever since.

Time is strange, isn’t it?
We beg it to slow down —
then suddenly, we need it to fly.
To disappear.
To carry us somewhere that doesn’t ache quite so much.

I think these are the moments that shape us most.
The ones where everything feels stretched —
heart, soul, time.

And here I am, sitting in it.

I could resist it.
Run from it.
Let the ache name me.

Or I could do the harder thing:
lean in.
Not into the absence —
but into the One who meets me here.

I’m not sure what the next 8,640 minutes will hold.
But I know this:
I won’t walk through a single one of them alone.


“I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”
— John 14:18 (KJV)