It happens only once. What happens only once? Everything!
We who live in New Hampshire become autumn snobs at this time of year. O to be in New Hampshire, now that fall is here! Everywhere we look, leaves explode in vibrant color, from bright yellow to flaming crimson to deep vermillion. Caressed by the warm wind of this October afternoon, I watch the leaves tumbling and swirling down in a random dance of death, each fragment of gold caught for a moment, only a moment, in the light. I’m trying desperately to grasp this extravaganza but it’s slipping away. The wind and the leaves and the swirling dance are all liars. They will not hold still; they will not return, not in quite the same way. Every event is a debut, never to be repeated. Every show plays only one time. We think it’s not true, but it is. Surely the autumn light will suffuse us in the same golden rush next fall. Surely that two year old will throw back his head and laugh again in the same way tomorrow. Surely my friend will pour out her heart to me again next week. I’ll have time then to stop and feel the wind, to hear the laughter, to listen. But no. Never again.
We are moving through Time at breakneck speed. We strive to freeze our exquisite moments, the moments when perfection tantalizes us. The newborn baby snuggling in sleep on our shoulder. The look of love in the eyes of the beloved. The sound of the surf, the tang of a fresh picked apple, the orange sun dropping behind the mountains. We struggle to break free into permanence but we are trapped, caught in Time’s web. We have no choice but to hang on for the ride. We get only the moment. Why do we protest? What do we long for? This causes us to pause in wonder. It speaks powerfully to the infinite personal God who is at the heart of creation.
I must live my moments. Yes, even in COVID, when I am so tempted to long for my “normal” past and hope for a better future. Nothing will ever be quite the same again anyway. I can’t miss any of my shows. There are no repeat performances.
