On Time

On Time

I confess it is one of my compulsions. Not sure whether I was born with it or I acquired a taste for it during my formative years. Nonetheless I hate being late. I have been mocked, ridiculed and maligned for this character quirk. I can’t help it, I need to be where I am going, on time.

I think it may have started when my father insisted, we not be late for church on Sunday morning. That meant some strategic planning to get eight children and my grandmother all going in the same direction so we could walk through the front door of the church and be seated in our pew before the priest appeared.

My seminary training cemented this into an ecclesiastical discipline. Being late for class, chapel services, meals or off campus activities was ground for expulsion. Short of my own demise, there was no excuse for tardiness. I believe that’s where my compulsion became an addiction (a behavior pattern acquired by frequent repetition or physiologic exposure that shows itself in regularity or increased facility of performance).

There is a positive side. This trait has healthy side effects. Synonyms for on time performance: dependable, reliable, on schedule, not late, prompt and punctual. Sound like a litany of maturity? Being on time is a sign of maturity; one that seems to be losing ground today.

I was taught that to disregard the clock is selfish. Doing so pays little regard to others who’s time is just as important as mine. Life like trains and planes doesn’t always run on time. Respect for the time restraints of others reduces the pressure quotient of daily life.

Today I feel caught in the dilemma of wanting to be on time but realizing it takes  more planning up front than it used to. My compulsion is losing ground to the speed of my aging clock.

My prayer today “Lord, my time is in your hands.”