"Time is the only critic without personal ambition."
- John Steinbeck
Time is relentless. It is precise and meticulous. It is objectively unemotional. Time can be haunting. Like when you notice the pencil-thin wrinkles around your eyes. Or when you look back recognize time wasted foolishly, and it cannot be taken back. Yet regardless of how you feel, time proceeds with monotonous precision. We mark it in seconds and hours, days, months, and years. We long for the day when time will be redeemed. When it will no longer haunt, but bless. When its relentless precision will be celebrated and not feared. There will be joy because each second will reveal great mysteries, the mysteries of time's great Keeper.