I used to stare at the ceiling at night, haunted by seconds I couldn’t get back.
Every tick was a taunt.
Every hour, a reminder of promises broken, days wasted, chances gone.
Time is merciless when you measure your life by regrets.
It doesn’t just move forward, it drags shame with it.
The clock becomes a judge, whispering, you’ve already lost.
But Scripture cuts through the noise:
“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” (Psalm 90:12)
The clock mocks because it thinks it owns me.
But the hours belong to the One who was before the first tick, and will be after the last.
He does not measure me by wasted time but by redeemed time.
So when the clock hunts me down, I remember:
My life is not its courtroom.
It is His canvas.
Time does not have the last word.
The Eternal does.
Reflection Question
What regrets are you still letting the clock replay that God has already silenced?
Clock hands chase your face.
But grace has already stopped.
The trial is over.
In Luminance 