Time, Hope, and the Change We Resist

The beginning of a new year is not merely a line between calendars, or a flip of the page to a new chapter. This year, for me, it felt like a reckoning with time and a challenge to surrender and grow.

One year slips through our fingers. Another is placed gently, almost reverently, into our hands whether we want it or not. And whether we realize it or not, something sacred is entrusted to us again. In typing these words, this is what I want to believe, what I want to choose. But, 2026 has so far been anything but gentle. I am working on this concept of time and the truth about it…knowing that it will always be a mystery. But, I can say that…

Time is a gift.

Time is to be treasured.

Time is life itself.

How we spend our time is how we are spending our lives.

It is now mid-January.

Time is passing and this is where the real reckoning begins.

Because it is one thing to reflect on time in the abstract, under the soft glow of a holiday moment. It is another thing entirely to face time in the ordinary rhythm of days…emails, meals, obligations, fatigue, unexpected events, and the quiet return of old habits and thoughts.

And truthfully, this reflection on time did not begin on New Year’s for me. 2025 was one of those years that I wanted to pass quickly because of the crosses, but yet not too fast because of all the blessings.

This theme…how we use time, how we lose it, how we might reclaim and redeem it…has been pressing on my heart for months now, long before the calendar turned. It has been stirring quietly in prayer, popping up in conversations and in moments of restlessness and clarity alike.

But it has also been sharpened by something far more real and visceral.

My daughter’s best friend, Hazel, was in a horrific car accident on January 9th. An event that, in many ways, made time stop.

Anyone who has walked through crisis knows this strange distortion of time.

Time slows.

Time stretches.

Time collapses in on itself.

Waiting rooms. Updates. Prayers whispered and repeated. The unbearable weight of not knowing what the next minute will bring.

In moments like these, time is no longer an abstraction. It becomes something we feel in our bones. Something precious and fragile and fleeting. Something we would give anything to slow down, or speed up, depending on what the moment requires.

Scripture reminds us that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day (2 Peter 3:8). God is not bound by the limitations we experience. He stands outside of time, even as He enters fully into it. And somehow, mysteriously and mercifully, He orchestrates all of it for His greater glory and our ultimate good, even when that good feels hidden or unbearably slow in coming.

And yet, for us, who live inside time, this truth does not make time less important, it actually makes it more sacred.

Because every moment becomes a place where eternity brushes up against the ordinary. The thin veil between this life and the next feels almost translucent. Where hospital rooms, kitchen tables, quiet chapels, and crowded roadways become holy ground, not because they are extraordinary, but because God is present within them.

In these moments, time is no longer just something we measure and track. Time becomes something we receive and reverence. Something we are invited to inhabit fully, rather than rush through or numb ourselves against.

By mid-January, we are no longer imagining the year we hope to live. We are actively shaping it. Which makes the question no less urgent, only more honest:

What change have I been resisting…and what has it been costing me?

Not in theory. But in practice.

What is quietly draining my attention, my peace, my prayer, my presence?

What patterns have already reasserted themselves, not because they are life-giving, but because they are familiar?

We often assume change is something dramatic…new plans, bold goals, sweeping resolutions. But more often, change is painfully small and deeply personal.

It is choosing to go to bed when we should.

To close the screen when we do not want to.

To sit with silence instead of filling it.

To pray when distraction feels easier.

To say no when comfort would say yes.

By mid-January, resistance reveals itself not in what we intend, but in what we tolerate. And what we tolerate becomes what we normalize. What we normalize becomes how we live.

This is why time is not neutral.

Every day, every hour, every small decision is already shaping who we are becoming, either in quiet alignment with Christ or in subtle resistance to Him. Yes, it is one or the other.

This is not meant to burden us…it is meant to awaken us.

Because the gift of time is not only that it passes, but that it can be reclaimed.

Mid-January is not too late.It is precisely right on time.

It is the moment…this moment right now… when the year stops being an idea and becomes a calling. A calling to deeper honesty and what truly gives life.

Time is still a gift.

Still a treasure.

Still life itself.

And perhaps the change we are resisting is not the loss of something, but the return of something: peace, presence, freedom, and life with God.

Thank you for spending your treasured time reading this and making it to the end. May God bless you!

Your sister in Christ,

Katie

PS…Pray for Hazel to recover fully from the injuries sustained in the car accident. Follow her progress here: Hazel's CaringBridge