Running Out of Time

The Gate of Heaven

There is a quiet ticking beneath the skin of the world.

Not loud like thunder,
not sharp like sorrow—
but steady…
like a clock Heaven alone can hear.

We say, there is still time.
But scripture whispers otherwise.

“Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.”
— 2 Corinthians 6:2 (KJV)

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The Weight of a Single Choice

What if the soul leans on a moment?
What if eternity bends
on a single yes…
or a quiet turning away?

The Bible does not paint salvation as accidental.

“Enter ye in at the strait gate… because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.”
— Matthew 7:13–14

This is not a path wandered into—
it is chosen.

Not with perfect hands,
but with a willing heart.

“Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved…”
— Acts 16:31

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Why Does It Feel Like Time Is Running Out?

The last days began long ago.

“God… hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son…”
— Hebrews 1:1–2

And yet—
there is a stirring now,
a trembling of branches before the wind arrives.

Because time is not measured as we measure it.

“But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years…”
— 2 Peter 3:8

And still—
the warning remains:

“For yourselves know perfectly that the day of the Lord so cometh as a thief in the night.”
— 1 Thessalonians 5:2

Not announced.
Not delayed for readiness.
But sudden.

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Israel: A Nation Born in a Breath

Scripture spoke what once seemed impossible:

“Shall a nation be born at once? for as soon as Zion travailed, she brought forth her children.”
— Isaiah 66:8

And history answered.

A people scattered…
called home.

“I will take you from among the heathen… and bring you into your own land.”
— Ezekiel 36:24

Like seeds long buried
rising at once through dry ground.

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As It Was in the Days of Noah

Before the flood—
there was no thunder.

Just living.
Eating.
Building.
Laughing.

“For as in the days that were before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage… and knew not until the flood came…”
— Matthew 24:38–39

Not wickedness alone—
but unawareness.

A world asleep
while judgment stood at the door.

And today?

We scroll.
We plan.
We delay the question of the soul.

And the rain clouds gather quietly.

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How Then Shall We Choose?

Do we read scripture like a checklist—
or like a lifeline?

“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.”
— Psalm 119:105

The Bible does not call for perfection—
but repentance.

“Repent ye therefore, and be converted, that your sins may be blotted out…”
— Acts 3:19

A turning.
A soft surrender.
A decision not to wait for tomorrow.

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The Gentle Urgency

God is not rushing you in panic—
but calling you in love.

“The Lord is… not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance.”
— 2 Peter 3:9

Still…
the door will not remain open forever.

“And they that were ready went in… and the door was shut.”
— Matthew 25:10

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Final Whisper

Time is not your enemy—
but it is not yours to hold.

The choice is not meant to crush you,
but to awaken you.

Because Heaven is not earned in fear—
it is entered through faith.

And today…

is still called today.

A Mother’s Day Offering

 

There is a quiet language the earth speaks
on Mother’s Day—
soft as petals opening,
gentle as hands that have held us
before we ever knew how to hold ourselves.

Today, we remember.

The mothers whose voices still echo in our bones,
whose lullabies linger in the marrow of our becoming.
The mothers who walk beside us still—
in kitchens, in gardens, in whispered prayers over sleeping heads.
And the mothers who have gone ahead,
now tending eternal gardens we cannot yet see.

We miss them in the small moments—
in the way light falls across the table,
in recipes half-remembered,
in the silence where their laughter once lived.

But heaven is not far—
only veiled.
And love does not end at the edge of breath.

We will see them again.
This is our steady hope.

And until then,
we become what love has taught us.

Mothering is not held by title alone—
it is a calling written into the spirit.

To be a mother
is to shelter.
To be a sister in Christ
is to gather the scattered.

To the orphan—
we become a covering of peace,
a place where trembling hearts can rest.

To the motherless—
we offer gentleness without condition,
presence without expectation.

To the widow, and the abandoned—

we become a quiet strength beside her,
an encourager when grief feels too heavy to carry.

This is the deeper bloom of Mother’s Day—
not only honoring what was given to us,
but becoming the giving.

There is strength here—
not loud, but enduring.
There is love here—
not fleeting, but rooted.
There is hope here—
growing like wildflowers through broken ground.

And in every act of care,
every soft word,
every unseen sacrifice—

heaven leans closer.

So today, we honor the mothers.
We remember the ones in glory.
We cherish the ones beside us.

And we rise—
as women who carry the sacred thread forward.

From earth to ink,
from heart to hand,
from heaven to here—

love continues.