Ten-Hour Days

Boston skyline and Charles River

Owing to the ongoing snow drought and light winter here in central New England, this was the scene that I savored during an 18-mile training run around the Charles River on Saturday afternoon. At the time, I was unaware of another subtle wonder to be enjoyed– after nearly three months, sunrise and sunset are once again more than ten hours apart in this corner of the globe. As if on cue, the swelling emergence of dawn accompanied the entirety of this morning's run, instead of merely attending its final minutes. I'll still need my reflective vest for several more weeks, but I am happily bidding farewell to the dark mornings of December and January.

Mirroring the gentle climb in the quantity and intensity of my marathon training, work and ministry have been gathering momentum in the past week. Pesky government forms have been particularly beguiling in efforts to submit a faculty member's proposal; dealing with error messages in the final hours before a deadline resembled the frenzied grasping for energy and poise in the closing mile of an especially intense race. On the ministry side, as I work to develop programs and presence in a first-year dorm, I've likened an array of conversations with a number of staff members to the careful stretching I should always do– and occasionally rush– in order to have a smoother and more satisfying workout, whether I'm running, cycling, swimming, or hiking.

Regaining ten-hour days inspires musings upon how I fill the additional time that I perceive in daylight's subtle seasonal swelling during the weeks leading to the vernal equinox. When am I simply passing the time rather than truly filling it? When am I simply spending time, instead of savoring and sharing it, whether in solitude or in the company of others? Lately, I've noticed a pattern of moving from one task or activity to the next, regardless of how time-sensitive these various items may be. I certainly had to hustle with today's challenging grant submission, and I'm learning that scheduling appointments is rarely as straightforward or efficient as I would like, but amidst slower times– in the office, around campus, or in the community– I know that I could do better in adjusting my pacing to match a reduced level of urgency.

So, as the afternoon winds down, and the brilliance of fading sunlight (which was long gone at this time last month) casts long shadows that draw my attention as warmly as a friend's outstretched arm, I find myself moved to pray with gratitude for the hours of the day, petition for the grace to use and invest such time wisely, and hope for all that my tasks and activities, as well as my rest and recreation, can accomplish for others and in myself.

Sunset over Fenwick Hall
College of the Holy Cross, Worcester MA