What Time Is It, Really?
by Melodie deMoreaux
There was a time when checking the time required nothing more than a glance at your wrist or a clock on the wall. You looked, you knew, and you went on with your day. Today, we can reach for a device that tells us the time, and everything else happening in the world.
For many of us, learning to tell time was a childhood milestone. We studied the clock face, learned the difference between the hour and minute hands, and counted our way around the dial in increments of five. We learned what quarter past and half past meant. Today, a digital display gives us the answer instantly. We no longer have to interpret the hands; we simply read the numbers. Maybe there's something worth remembering about that old clock; we weren't just learning what time it was. We were learning how time worked.
We pick up our phones to check the hour, notice a message, respond to an email, read a headline, and perhaps wander through a few social media posts. Before we know it, several minutes have passed. Somewhere along the way, checking the time became an invitation to do a dozen other things.
It's an interesting change in our relationship with time. We have more ways to measure it, manage it, and organize it than any generation before us. Yet we often feel as though we have less of it.
Call me sentimental, but I love the sound of an old ticking clock. There's something wonderfully familiar about that steady rhythm. Perhaps it reminds you of a grandparent's home, where a clock quietly marked the passing hours while ordinary family life unfolded around it.
The ticking became part of the atmosphere. It accompanied conversations, meals, laughter, and quiet afternoons. We probably didn't give the clock much thought. It simply kept time while life was happening around it. Years later, that familiar sound can stir something deep within us. Though today, some people refer to the ticking of a clock as background noise; I hear it as a punctuation, a reminder that the previous second has passed.
While reflecting on this, I found myself remembering a little tune from my childhood piano lessons. I couldn't quite place it, but the words tick-tock and old clock seemed familiar.
With the help of technology (including AI), I began exploring the possibility that it came from the John Thompson piano books I studied as a child. Then I allowed my mind to embrace the beginning of a delightful memory. A walnut encased upright piano with mother-of-pearl inlay, fancy scrolling, worn ebony and ivory keys, and a rather uncomfortable piano stool to sit on. I could almost picture myself sitting there again, practicing.
Not just an endearing journey into yesterday, but also a beautiful example of something I'd been considering about technology. We often talk about how technology distracts us from life, and certainly it can; but here was technology helping me reconnect with a cherished experience from childhood. It didn't create the memory or replace the experience. It helped me find a doorway back to it.
Technology can enrich our lives tremendously. It can help us learn, create, communicate, solve problems, and make connections with people and places we never dreamed possible.
The question isn't whether technology is good or bad. The question is whether we're using it to enrich the moments we've been given or allowing it to distract us from them.
The Chronos Effect
The ancient Greeks had different words for time, each emphasizing something about how it is experienced.
One was chronos, referring to time as duration or progression; the measurable passage of hours, days, months, and years.
It's the source of familiar English words such as chronology, chronological, and chronometer. Chronos also has an interesting connection to another familiar figure: Father Time.
In Greek mythology, Chronos was a personification of time. Over centuries, his imagery became associated with Cronus, the Titan who was the father of Zeus. These traditions eventually contributed to the familiar Western image of Father Time; an elderly man carrying an hourglass and a scythe. The hourglass represents passing time. The scythe reminds us of mortality. Father Time is a symbolic reminder that the years continue moving forward, whether we're paying attention or not.
The other Greek word worth considering is kairos.
While chronos often emphasizes measurable or sequential time, kairos refers to a particular moment, season, or opportunity, emphasizing its significance. The meanings of these words can overlap, but the distinction offers a useful way of thinking about our lives.
Chronos tells us how much time has passed. Kairos invites us to recognize the importance of a moment. We can know precisely what time it is without understanding what the moment is worth.
That's what I call the Chronos Effect - becoming so occupied with measuring, managing, or watching time pass that we overlook the significance of the moments within it.
Have you ever noticed that there are two very different ways to lose track of time? Sometimes we lose time because we're distracted. A few minutes of scrolling becomes half an hour. We move from one notification to another, barely remembering why we picked up the phone in the first place.
There are also times when we lose track of time because we're completely present. A wonderful conversation with a friend. An afternoon spent painting or playing music. A peaceful walk. A gathering where the laughter continued long after everyone planned to leave. We're so engaged in the experience that we forget to watch the clock.
In the first scenario our attention is scattered. In the second, our attention is fully given. We can lose time because we're distracted, or we can lose track of time because we're fully present. Those are two very different experiences.
The difference is not necessarily how many minutes have passed. It's how we lived within them. Perhaps the problem isn't how much time we have. Perhaps it's how much of ourselves we're giving to the time we've been given.
Our relationship with technology has changed more than how we tell time. It has also changed how we relate to one another. We can now maintain entire relationships through text messages, emails, and social media. These tools are valuable, particularly when distance or circumstances make personal visits difficult; but convenience can gradually reshape our expectations.
A phone call may feel inconvenient when a text would be quicker. An unexpected visit may feel disruptive. A long conversation can seem demanding when we're accustomed to communicating in brief exchanges. We may be more accessible than ever before, but accessibility doesn't necessarily create intimacy.
A message can convey information without communicating the warmth of a familiar voice. A photograph can capture an experience without replacing the joy of sharing it. A quick response can acknowledge someone's words without truly hearing their heart.
Relationships require something technology cannot provide on our behalf. They require us. Our attention, our patience, our willingness to listen. Perhaps the greatest gift we can give someone isn't more of our time, but more of ourselves in the time we share.
Thinking about the time we share with others brings me back to the old analog clock and another feature I find interesting. The hands continue moving, but the markers on its face remain fixed.
Our lives have markers, too. Some are joyful occasions: birthdays, weddings, graduations, anniversaries, and the arrival of a child. Others are moments of grief or unexpected change. The loss of someone we love. A diagnosis. An event that divided our lives into before and after.
Some moments become shared memories for entire generations. People remember where they were when President Kennedy was assassinated, when Elvis Presley died, or when the events of September 11 unfolded.
These experiences become reference points in our personal histories.
The clock tells us when something happened. Memory reminds us why it mattered; the two are interconnected.
Memories allow us to celebrate, honor, grieve, and remember. They remind us of people we love and experiences that helped shape our lives.
I've begun wondering whether we sometimes become so attached to the moments behind us that we overlook the ones unfolding before us. We revisit cherished memories, wishing we could experience them again. We replay painful experiences, wishing we could change what happened. We compare today's circumstances with a season we remember as happier, easier, or more fulfilling; and without realizing it, we can begin living in yesterday.
There is a difference between honoring a memory and allowing it to become the place where we continually dwell.
My perspective on memory is somewhat unusual. Since my brain injury, many of the memories from earlier seasons of my life are no longer readily accessible to me. There are huge gaps in my personal history that I cannot simply fill by trying harder to remember. That loss of memories is real.
However, I've also discovered an unexpected blessing. I don't have the same mental filing cabinet filled with years of experiences to revisit. I cannot continually replay every disappointment, return to every hurt, or compare each new experience with something that happened long ago. Yes, while there are memories I would maybe treasure having back, I've discovered something valuable about living in the present. I can appreciate today without constantly measuring it against yesterday. My past is still part of my story, even when I cannot remember every chapter; but I don't need to remember every moment of yesterday to recognize the value of this one.
Perhaps that's why rediscovering that childhood piano memory was so special. I wasn't trying to return to the past or live there. I was fully engaged in a conversation in the present when a little piece of yesterday unexpectedly came to visit. I could enjoy it, smile at it, and appreciate the gift without needing to hold on to it. That experience reminded me of something important. The value of a moment isn't determined by whether we remember it forever, but by how fully we live it while it's ours. Yesterday deserves remembrance, tomorrow deserves preparation, but today deserves our presence.
In Ephesians 5:15–16, Paul encourages believers to walk wisely, making the best use of their time. Interestingly, the Greek word translated as time in verse 16 is kairos. The passage encourages us to recognize and respond wisely to the opportunities before us. It isn't simply about filling every hour with activity; it's about living intentionally.
The account of Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38–42 offers another perspective. Martha was busy with the responsibilities of hospitality. Her work was worthwhile, but she became distracted by everything that needed to be done. Mary chose to sit at Jesus' feet and listen. When Martha expressed her frustration, Jesus gently redirected her attention to what mattered most. He wasn't teaching that responsibility was unimportant. He was revealing that even good and necessary activities can distract us from something greater.
How often do we find ourselves doing the same? We fill our days with appointments, responsibilities, messages, and obligations. We plan for tomorrow, reflect on yesterday, and attempt to manage everything happening around us. Sometimes even our relationship with God becomes another item on the schedule. A few minutes for prayer, a chapter of Scripture. A devotional reading squeezed between appointments.
These are valuable practices, but perhaps we should occasionally ask ourselves whether we're simply completing an activity or genuinely spending time in His presence.
Psalm 46:10 reminds us to be still and know that He is God. Stillness doesn't necessarily mean inactivity. Sometimes it means surrendering the distractions, expectations, and memories competing for our attention long enough to recognize the One who is present with us.
Perhaps being present also requires us to consider what we choose to do with the time we've been given.
In 1 Corinthians 10:23, Paul reminds us that not everything permissible is beneficial or constructive. Although he was addressing Christian freedom and responsibility toward others, the principle invites us to consider the choices we make with our time.
Just because we can fill every moment with activity doesn't mean we should. Not every beneficial moment needs to be productive. Rest, laughter, meaningful conversation, music, and quiet reflection can all be worthwhile uses of our time.
Perhaps the question isn't simply whether we have time to do something, or even whether we have the freedom to do it, but whether it is beneficial. Are we using the moments we've been given to build something meaningful, strengthen a relationship, encourage another person, or draw closer to God? Or are we simply filling them?
Time may be ours to spend, but it is also ours to steward.
“Father Time” reminds us that our days are numbered. Our heavenly Father reminds us that our days have purpose. The hands of a clock continue moving. The hours become days, the days become years, and the years become the story of our lives. Some moments will become treasured memories. Others will fade from our awareness. Some may be lost to us entirely. Every memory we cherish began as a moment we were given, and every moment we're living now offers an opportunity to be attentive to the people, experiences, and purposes God has placed before us.
We can honor the past without living inside it. We can prepare for tomorrow without allowing it to consume today. We can use the remarkable tools available to us without surrendering our attention to them.
Perhaps the next time we hear the steady ticking of an old clock, we might remember that it isn't simply counting the seconds. Life is happening between the ticks. Maybe the next time we reach for our phones to check the hour, we might ask ourselves a different question. Not simply, what time is it? But, what is this time for? Because knowing what time it is doesn’t necessarily mean we’re present in the time we’ve been given. Thankfully, we have choices about how we spend our time. My hope and prayer is that we’ll recognize the value of the moments entrusted to us, and one day be able to look back and say: “that was time well spent.”
