Time That Turns: Living Outside The Rush

For most of my life, I thought time was something I was chasing.

Always moving forward. Always running out. Always asking more of me than I could comfortably give.

The language around time reinforced it: saving time, spending time, wasting time, falling behind. Time felt like a straight line with winners at the front and shame waiting at the back.

(I’m always struck by the scene in Alice in Wonderland where the characters speak of beating Time—as if time were an adversary to be conquered. That image has stayed with me, because it reveals how deeply we assume time must be controlled, outrun, or subdued in order for us to be safe.)

But that isn’t the way Scripture speaks about time. And it isn’t the way my life actually works.

Linear Time Makes Us Hurry

Modern life treats time as a line — once a moment passes, it’s gone forever. Miss it, and you’ve failed. Fall behind, and you stay behind.

Living inside that framework produces a constant, low-grade urgency.

It trains us to rush even when nothing is chasing us.

I’ve felt that rush in my body: shallow breath, tight shoulders, hands moving faster than my attention. Even good things — meaningful work, creative projects, acts of care — start to feel like pressure when they’re forced onto a straight line that never bends.

Biblical Time Turns Instead of Running

Hebrew thought offers a different picture.

Time does not race forward; it turns.

Days return. Weeks cycle. Sabbaths arrive again. Seasons repeat. Feasts come back around, carrying memory with them.

Nothing is truly lost. What was missed can be met again. What wasn’t finished can be returned to.

This understanding changes how I hold my life.

If time turns, then I am not constantly failing to keep up. I am moving through cycles of tending, resting, preparing, and beginning again.

The Rush Is a Teacher — But Not a Good One

When I live as if time is always slipping away, the rush becomes my teacher.

It teaches me to value speed over care. It teaches me to finish instead of notice. It teaches me to measure my days by output rather than presence.

But rush is a poor instructor. It produces work that is brittle and lives that are narrow.

Living outside the rush requires me to unlearn what hurry has taught.

Sabbath Is a Weekly Reorientation

Sabbath interrupts linear time.

It reminds me — every single week — that stopping is not a failure. That rest is not falling behind. That provision does not disappear when I pause.

Sabbath trains my body to experience time differently. To feel the turn instead of the race.

Even when a particular week is not marked as sacred time on the calendar, I can still choose to live by Sabbath principles.

I can stop early. I can leave things unfinished. I can trust that I will meet them again.

Circular Time Changes How I Create

When I stop treating time as a straight line, my creativity softens.

I no longer demand that every session produce something impressive. I allow ideas to unfold across days and weeks. I let projects rest and return to them without shame.

Preparation becomes an act of peace instead of anxiety. Repetition becomes faithfulness instead of failure.

This is where Creative Sabbath lives — inside time that turns.

Small Acts Anchor Us in the Turn

Living outside the rush doesn’t require a radical life overhaul.

It shows up in small, repeatable choices: • tending what is already alive • preparing gently for what is coming • stopping before exhaustion • returning without judgment

These acts acknowledge that time will meet me again.

I don’t have to chase it.

Learning to Breathe With Time

When I stop fighting time, my breath changes.

I work more slowly, but with more attention. I make fewer things, but they last longer. I trust pauses instead of filling them.

Time stops feeling like an enemy and begins to feel like a companion — something I move with rather than against.

Living Outside the Rush

The rush tells me there is never enough time.

Circular time tells me there is always another turn.

I am learning to live as though that is true.

To pause without panic. To prepare without hurry. To rest without guilt.

Time does not run away from me. It turns.

And I am allowed to turn with it.