Tag faith and action

GOD’S SAVINGS TIME: REDEEMING THE TIME WE HAVE

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

The Ritual That Changes Nothing

Twice a year we perform the same ritual. We move the hands of our clocks forward and backward as if time itself were clay in our grasp. We complain about losing an hour or gaining one. We often discuss “saving time,” although no one has ever saved a single second. The sun still rises and sets on the schedule God ordained in Genesis. The day remains twenty‑four hours long, no matter how many times we adjust the numbers glowing on our screens.

Daylight Savings Time is a perfect picture of human illusion. It feels important, but it accomplishes nothing of eternal value. It shifts the clock, but it does not shift the heart. It rearranges the hours, but it does not redeem them. It is a semi-annual ritual. It signifies our desire to feel in control of something we cannot command.

Scripture, however, calls us to something far weightier. We are not commanded to save time. We are commanded to redeem it.

Redeeming Time, Not Rearranging It

Paul writes, “Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.” (Ephesians 5:16). The word redeem means to buy back, to seize, to rescue from loss. It is the language of urgency, stewardship, and eternal purpose. We cannot redeem the hours on a clock, but we can redeem the opportunities God places before us. We can redeem conversations, relationships, moments of influence, and windows of grace.

Paul reinforces this in Colossians 4:5: “Walk in wisdom toward them that are without, redeeming the time.” This is not about managing schedules. It is about reaching souls. It is about recognizing that every moment carries eternal weight.

Daylight Savings Time pretends to give us more daylight. God’s Savings Time calls us to walk in the light while it is still available.

The Call to Watchfulness

Daylight Savings Time is a harmless ritual, but spiritually it mirrors a far more dangerous pattern. Twice a year we adjust our clocks without adjusting our lives. We move the hands forward or backward. We feel as though we have accomplished something meaningful. Yet, nothing in eternity has changed. The sun rises and sets exactly as God ordained. The hours remain the same. Only our perception shifts.

In the same way, many believers have been lulled into a false sense of security. This is due to soothing messages and comfortable routines. A Christianity that promises rest without responsibility can also be misleading. We have been told to relax and settle in. We are encouraged to enjoy the blessings of God as if the Kingdom were a recliner. We treat discipleship as though it were a leisure activity. But Scripture paints a very different picture. The Kingdom of God is not a lounge chair; it is a field. It is not a place for slumber; it is a place for labor. It is not a retreat from responsibility; it is a call to action.

Paul’s warning becomes clearer in this light: “Knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep.” (Romans 13:11).. He is not speaking to the world; he is speaking to the Church. He is speaking to those who have drifted into spiritual Standard Time. They have become comfortable, predictable, and unhurried. They are unaware of the lateness of the hour. He follows with a phrase that cuts through every illusion of delay: “The night is far spent, the day is at hand.” (Romans 13:12).

This is not a poetic flourish. It is a diagnosis. The night is not approaching; it is already advanced. The day is not distant; it is pressing in. The time is late, and the work is urgent. The fields are not waiting for us to feel ready; they are already white for harvest. Jesus said, “Lift up your eyes… the fields are white already to harvest.” (John 4:35). Harvest time is not a season for sleep. Proverbs warn, “He that sleepeth in harvest is a son that causeth shame.” (Proverbs 10:5).

The Church has been comforted by complacency, but the Kingdom is calling us into wakefulness. We are not here to adjust clocks; we are here to redeem time. We are not here to preserve our comfort; we are here to rescue the lost. We are not here to drift through days; we are here to work while it is still day, because Jesus Himself declared, “Night is coming, when no one can work.” (John 9:4).

This is the heart of God’s Savings Time. It is not about gaining an hour of sunlight. It is about seizing the hour of salvation. It is about recognizing that every moment carries eternal weight. It is about refusing to sleep through the harvest while souls hang in the balance. It is about waking up, rising up, and stepping into the fields before the final night falls.

The Fields Are White, Not Waiting

Jesus told His disciples, “Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.” (John 4:35). The harvest is not someday. The harvest is not when we feel ready. The harvest is not when the Church is comfortable. The harvest is now.

Proverbs adds its own warning: “He that sleepeth in harvest is a son that causeth shame.” (Proverbs 10:5). We are not called to sleep in harvest. We are called to labor in it.

Daylight Savings Time may shift the clock, but it does not shift the urgency of the harvest. Souls are perishing. Hearts are hardening. The night is approaching. The Church can’t afford to drift into spiritual Standard Time. Routine, complacency, and delay must be avoided. God is calling us into His Savings Time.

Numbering Our Days

Moses prayed, “Teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12). Numbering our days is not about counting them. It is about valuing them. It means understanding that every day is a gift. Each moment involves stewardship. Every opportunity is a divine appointment.

We cannot save time. But we can redeem it. We can invest it. We can sow it into eternity.

Daylight Savings Time is a ritual that changes nothing. God’s Savings Time is a calling that changes everything.

The Question That Matters

The question is not whether we have adjusted our clocks. The question is whether we have adjusted our lives.

Are we redeeming the time? Are we awake? Are we working while it is still day? Are we living in God’s Savings Time?

Because the night is coming. The trumpet will sound. And the work will be finished.

The Wayward Dresser

Allen Frederick Leave a comment

A neighborhood finally sees the end of a long‑standing wooden menace

Somewhere in a small town in Pennsylvania — For months, a battered dresser stayed on a narrow strip of land. The township maintained this land. It lay sprawled there, unattended. Its warped frame and swollen drawers formed an eyesore. Residents could not ignore it, yet somehow never addressed it. It started as discarded furniture. Slowly, it evolved into a fixture of quiet defiance. The wooden intruder seemed to grow bolder with each passing week.

The dresser did not move or speak, but its presence carried a strange authority. It reclined on its side. It seemed to intentionally pose. Its puffed‑out drawers gave the impression of a chest lifted in pride. Neighbors walked past it with the same uneasy tolerance. It was akin to how one responds to a stray dog refusing to leave the porch. Drivers slowed down to stare. Children pointed out from car windows. Yet no one touched it. Not the landlord. Not the maintenance crew. Not even the township, responsible for mowing the very ground on which it rested.

Like Goliath standing in the Valley of Elah, the dresser’s power came not from action but from endurance. It simply remained, day after day, mocking the neighborhood with its refusal to budge. And like the armies of Israel, an entire community of capable adults adjusted their routines around it. They waited for someone else to take responsibility.

A Giant in the Grass

Residents described the dresser as if it possessed a personality. It seemed to smirk at passersby, daring anyone to challenge its claim to the land. Rain bloated its panels. Sun bleached its finish. Frost cracked its edges. Yet the dresser held its ground with the stubbornness of a giant that believed no one would ever confront it.

The longer it stayed, the more impossible it seemed to remove. What should have been a simple task gradually became a symbol of collective hesitation. The dresser was not strong, but it was unchallenged, and that was enough.

The Arrival of a David

The stalemate ended on an ordinary afternoon. A resident decided that the dresser’s reign had lasted long enough. There was no announcement, no committee meeting, and no official directive. A neighbor quietly offered a tool — a sledgehammer. This gesture was reminiscent of Jonathan placing his sword and shield into David’s hands before the battle.

With this borrowed weapon in hand, the resident approached the dresser. The resident had the calm resolve of someone who had reached the end of patience. The dresser, for the first time in months, appeared vulnerable.

The First Strike

The first swing landed with a sharp crack that echoed across the yard. A drawer burst open, releasing a puff of dust as if the dresser had been holding its breath. A second blow splintered a leg. A third sent fragments scattering across the grass. The giant that had lounged in smug defiance for months was suddenly reduced to a trembling heap of particle board.

As in the biblical account, once the first strike was delivered, help arrived from an unexpected source. A passing neighbor stepped out of her vehicle, surveyed the scene, and gladly joined the effort. Without hesitation, she gathered the fallen pieces. She carried them to the dumpster. She worked with the efficiency of someone who understood the importance of finishing what had begun.

Within minutes, the dresser was gone. The patch of ground it had occupied for so long stood empty. It was now restored to the quiet normality it had been denied.

The Moral of the Story

In the biblical account, Goliath stood in the valley for forty days, taunting Israel with his presence. He did not need to swing a sword or launch an attack. His mere existence, unchallenged, was enough to paralyze an entire army of trained, armored fighting men.

The dresser played the same role. It did not move, speak, or strike. It simply sat there, day after day. It occupied a space it was never meant to occupy. It grew comfortable in its defiance. It mocked the neighborhood with its stubborn refusal to leave. And like Israel’s soldiers, the community adjusted their routines around it. They walked past it. They ignored it and pretended it was not their problem.

That is the quiet danger of tolerated nuisances — and of unrepented sin. What begins as a small inconvenience becomes, over time, an obstacle that feels immovable. What starts as a minor irritation grows into a fixture of defeat. What should have been removed immediately becomes something we learn to live with.

Sin often arrives without fanfare. It simply appears, settles in, and occupies ground it was never meant to hold. It lingers. It mocks. It grows comfortable. It dares anyone to confront it. And the longer it remains unchallenged, the more unbeatable it seems.

The day the dresser fell is a reminder. Giants — wooden or spiritual — collapse the moment someone steps up. They take the first swing and refuse to tolerate what should never have been allowed to stay. Sometimes the greatest victories begin with a simple, decisive moment of clarity: enough.

When that moment comes, the giant falls, the nuisance is removed, and the ground it occupied is restored to peace.

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