Where does the time go? Will there ever be enough of it? There never will be, will there? The suspicion rises now that time might well be in the breath we use to ask the question, but cannot yield an answer that will satisfy. It flows too fast. Every book I've ever devoted myself to writing is a question hoping for an answer. But its ending always seems to be an opening out of its own limited "time" into some further wonderment, new world, new time, new question that seeks answering.
These last few days of the calendar year lines from Psalm 26 have been on my mind:
"Of you my heart has spoken:
'Seek God's face'.
It is your face oh Holy One that I seek;
Hide not your face."
And out from those words comes the realization here is the question without end, the answer that never will be fathomed, the reality behind all appearance, the eternity in every moment, the heart's longing that will not be satisfied, the Face behind all faces, the allure that draws us, the never ending mystery, the Beginning that breaks forth from every Ending.