by Michael Quoist
I went out, Lord.
Men were coming and going, walking and running.
Everything was rushing: cars, trucks, the street, and the whole town.
Men were rushing not to waste time.
They were rushing after time, to gain time.
Good-bye, Sir, excuse me, I haven’t time.
I’ll come back. I can’t wait, I haven’t time.
I must end this letter – I haven’t time.
I’d love to help you, but I haven’t time.
I can’t accept, having not time.
I can’t think, I can’t read, I’m swamped, I haven’t time.
I’d like to pray, but I haven’t time.
You understand, Lord, they simply haven’t time.
The child is playing, he hasn’t time right now…later on…
The schoolboy has his homework to do, he hasn’t time…later on…
The student has his course, and so much work…later on…
The young man is at his sports, he hasn’t time…later on…
The young married man has his new house, he hasn’t time…later on…
The grandparents have their grandchildren, they haven’t time…later on…
The are ill, they have their treatments, they haven’t time…later on…
They are dying, they have no….too late…they have no more time.
Lord, You must have made a mistake in your calculations.
There is a big mistake somewhere,
The hours are too short,
The days are too short,
Our lives are too short.
You who are beyond time, Lord, You smile to see us fighting it.
And You know what You are doing.
You made no mistakes in Your distribution of time to men.
You give each one time to do what You want him to do.
But we must not lose time,
For time is a gift You give us,
But a perishable gift,
A gift that does not keep.
I am not asking You Lord, for time to do this and then that,
But Your grace to do conscientiously, in the time that You give me, what You want me to do.