I Hate Being Late

Late…and on time…have different meanings to different people. I’m one of those annoying people who feels like fifteen minutes early is actually being on time. To get somewhere at the exact time you are told an event is starting…is late.

This comes from the fact that I don’t like to be or feel rushed. Getting to where I need to be a few minutes before it starts lets me compose myself (Lord, don’t I need that) and feel prepared. My internal clock is pretty good. I always have a good idea of what time it is…but there is no rush hour in my makeup. There isn’t a speed cycle in me.

They are making new cars that have eight, nine, or even ten gears. I’m an old standard-shift three-speed. But a three-speed still gets you there on time.

Now, this may not be the wisest thing to do, but I live in a house of ladies who define time differently than I do.

When I say we need to leave in twenty minutes…that means in twenty minutes the car should be leaving the driveway. Tires should be rolling. That does not mean that you are wrapping up the getting-ready-to-leave process.

Getting ready for me can happen literally in ten minutes. My hair is already done. After some basic hygiene issues and picking out a pair of pants and a shirt that is comfortable…I’m good to go.

It seems to take ten minutes for curling irons to get warm and ready to go battle in my home.

There are stages, I’ve noticed. There is a hair stage. A makeup stage. A sit-around-and-aggravate-Dad-because-the-clock-is-ticking stage. There is a stage of dressing and picking out shoes…followed by a reassessment of clothing selection and footwear.

There are also certain smells that develop during the female preparation stages.

Curling irons and burning hair with 1,800 watts of electricity produce a certain smell. Sprays and lotions have their own smells. The final step of covering all that involves a tiny, expensive bottle of perfume that finishes off the concoction of smells.

A friend of mine, who is blessed with girls also, says that teenage girls and brownies are the same…when you start to smell them, you know they’re almost done.

As you can see, we are dealing with two different ideas about time and preparation.

At some point, out of frustration, I’ll just tell everyone, “I’ll be waiting in the car.”

This doesn’t change the time we will actually leave. It just gets me out of the way.

Waiting drives me crazy when I know there is a simple solution.

Solution: Just get ready like I do…think like I do…and let’s get going.

It’s that simple.

And actually, it’s silly when I think about it.

If we are not careful, we can have this same kind of attitude when it comes to the workings of God.

We have a simple idea of what needs to happen.

“God, do this, at this time, and it will work out.”

Amazing that we have been promoted to God’s advisory committee.

But God does not always operate on our schedule.

Take, for instance, the death of Lazarus in John 11. Jesus received word that Lazarus’s physical condition was serious. And…then He waited two days before going to Lazarus’s house.

He waited two days.

When He did arrive, Lazarus was no longer sick…he was dead.

Jesus waited two days.

However, this waiting allowed for a greater miracle to happen. Rather than healing a sick man, Jesus raised a dead man. God received glory. People wondered if this might be the Messiah. Word about Lazarus spread throughout the region.

The story has been retold and preached for thousands of years…because Jesus waited two days.

God does not operate based on a clock. He isn’t confined to time. The Bible speaks of God working in “due season.”

When we finally realize that “due season” is better for us, we will look at things differently.

That prayer that you have been praying, and you are on the verge of dropping from your prayer life…keep praying until it’s “due season.”

That lost soul that you have shared with and thrown a bushel of seed on…don’t give up. It’s not “due season” yet.

God is never late…never early…He is always perfect in His timing.

Excuse me while I go sit in the car.

Until the next line…

Scott Sullivan

The Notebook