This bench looks ridiculously long. But that is because of the perspective you see it from. If you were looking instead from a hot air balloon hovering overhead, it would seem short. If you and your six friends arrived after a five mile jaunt and wanted to rest it would feel just right. Did the bench expand or contract, or did your impression wobble?

 

I notice that in my brief sojourn on this earth my sense of time vacillates. In high school, waiting for a boy to ask me out felt like en eternity. Twiddling my thumbs while John decided to propose took aaaaages. Now those pauses in the action feel like a blink. Less than a blink.

 

As a young mother the sleep deprivation slogged on and on and on. I have a few mental images of myself, dragging out of bed with a twin in each arm, plodding down stairs to face another day of diapers and nursing. But now I can scarcely remember what it felt like.

 

Once a woman told me about what a desert her marriage was, for years. She had trouble staying true to her commitment. But recently we talked and her sense of joy in her relationship completely eclipsed those emotions. She can recall it, but just barely. It is like a story she once heard.

 

I guess the reason God does not give up as easily as we tend to is because He has such a great view.