It must be at least four feet in diameter. Its hands are long and black. Its numbers are delineated by what today’s generation would call a bunch of x’s, i’s and v’s. That is, if they could read them at all.
The clock graces the back wall of our favorite breakfast restaurant where the waitstaff ask us if we need the menu and call us by name.
As I sat and stared at the distressed clock while waiting for my order to come, I saw something about the minute hand that I had not noticed in any other clock. I could see time ticking by. Oh, I’ve seen the smooth circling of a second hand before, but it was the minute hand that caught my fancy on this morning. There was a distinct jerking as it ticked off its journey from one minute to the next, and as I pondered the phenomenon, I realized I could see it moving because this specific minute hand was much longer than ones on an average-sized clock. The longer the hand, the more clearly you can see its movement through time.
The longer our lives, the more clearly we see the passage of time. We understand more fully that precious memories are made during the clicking of the minute hand on the clock, rather than the rotation of the earth around the sun. Days never seem long and tedious as we grow older. Even when our days are filled with the aches and pains we had no concept of only ten years before, we treasure moments with friends and family and laugh so hard sometimes that tears glisten on the wrinkled skin beneath our eyes and tumble down the crevices of our once silky smooth cheeks.
Dancing in the kitchen for no particular reason except a good tune on the radio, is a joy the youngsters miss. The alluring anticipation of peaceful sleep as you pull the covers up under your whiskered chin barely moments after the summer’s sun said so long for another day. These are the things, and so much more, that make old people happy and misunderstood. Friends on this side of the green grass give you hope for another day and the ones on the other side give you hope for eternity.
While we are acutely aware of the passage of time, as age spots appear and memories fade, there are joys upon joys which make time stand still and no recapturing of youthful moments compares to the journey behind or the one ahead. And we are content with the time that is, and that may yet be.
No wonder Proverbs 16:31 says grey hair is a crown of glory.