Time Is Fleeting (Why Practice Changes Us)
Time has a way of slipping through our fingers without making a sound. One day it’s January, and the next you’re staring at a calendar wondering how the weeks got so full.
And if I’m honest, there’s a particular kind of ache that comes with that. Not just the “wow, time flies” feeling, but the quiet awareness that life is moving, and we’re being shaped as we go. Whether we intended it or not.
Wishes don’t shape a life: practices do. What we repeat, we become.
We know this truth even outside of faith language. Whether you call yourself a Christ-follower, or you are not religious at all, you still understand that you are being formed by something: your habits, your inputs, your relationships, your fears, your longings, your calendar, your coping mechanisms. Formation is happening either way. The only question is: by what?
And as a Christian, I have to admit something I don’t love admitting…there have been seasons when I was shaped by things I should have been running from, not leaning closer to. I chose what formed me, even when it wasn’t forming me into someone more whole, more grounded, more present… more like Jesus.
That’s part of what makes time so sobering. It’s not only fleeting; it’s formative. The weeks don’t just pass; they do something to us. And the more we dismiss the question of what (or who) is shaping us, the more likely we are to wake up one day feeling like we’ve become someone we never meant to be.
We live in a world—and honestly, sometimes a church culture—that puts a lot of weight on information. More learning. More content. More knowledge. And learning matters. Deeply. (I say this as a person who loves learning right now – and I tend to want to chase and hoard information on various subject matter.)
But information alone was never meant to be the end goal of our faith.
Knowing about Jesus is not the same as becoming like Him.
That’s where spiritual formation comes in: the lifelong work of being shaped into the likeness of Christ. Not quickly. Not perfectly. Not all at once. Formation is usually slow. It happens over time. It happens in ordinary places in our daily lives. And most of the time, it happens while we’re still very much in process.
And here’s what I keep noticing, especially among women who love Jesus and truly want to grow: so many of us are tired. Busy. Stretched thin. Sometimes quietly discouraged.
And underneath the surface, we’re carrying questions like:
“How do I actually grow when my life is already full?”
“Why do I feel like I’m trying so hard… and still stuck?”
“What does faith look like when I’m exhausted?”
Those questions aren’t questions of someone who is failing. They’re questions of someone who is human. They’re also holy, because they’re a kind of hunger. A longing for something more than just collecting spiritual information. A longing for a way of life.
Because you can have all the right beliefs and still feel like you’re drifting.
Psalm 90:12 says, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”
That verse has never felt like a threat to me: it feels like an invitation. Not to obsess over time, not to rush, not to cram more into the calendar… but to live awake. To live on purpose. To pay attention.
And Ephesians 5:15–16 echoes that same tone: “Be very careful, then, how you live, not as unwise but as wise, making the most of every opportunity…”
That doesn’t read like hustle culture. It reads like holy attention.
It’s like Scripture is saying: Your attention matters. Your choices matter. Your repetitions matter. The way you live your days will shape the way you live your life.
And then James 4:13–15 humbles us even further, because it reminds us how much we don’t control. James isn’t anti-planning (although I do wonder if, in our current time, he might not be as big a fan of a day planner as I am!); he’s anti-presumption. He’s inviting us to hold our calendars with open hands. “If the Lord wills…”
So when I say time is fleeting, I don’t mean “panic.” I mean: let’s wake up gently.
Return to what matters. Choose what will form you…while you still can.
If spiritual formation feels intimidating or unrealistic, you are not alone. For many of us, the barriers aren’t a lack of desire; they’re very normal realities: work, kids, caregiving, health issues, grief, anxiety, school, a full schedule, a noisy mind, a season where everything feels like survival, and it takes all you have just to put one foot in front of the other.
So let me say this out loud and clearly: Spiritual practices are not reserved for people with quiet mornings, perfect routines, or uninterrupted schedules.
Practices that form us are for the working mom, the caregiver, the student, the woman rebuilding after loss, the woman holding anxiety, the woman in a full season, the woman in a lonely season, the woman who feels strong, and the woman who feels fragile.
Spiritual practices are for all of us…across every generation and every stage.
And if you’ve been thinking, I would love to grow, but I don’t have the kind of life that allows for it, I just want to gently challenge that lie. Because Jesus never reserved transformation for the people with ideal conditions. He met people in the middle of real life. Dusty roads. Crowded homes. Busy days. Wounded hearts.
There’s a passage in Matthew 11 where Jesus speaks directly to people who are tired—tired of striving, tired of carrying heavy expectations, tired of trying to get it all right.
And He doesn’t shame them. He doesn’t pile more on. He invites them.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28–30)
If you’re in a season where you feel exhausted, behind, scattered, or spiritually dry, please hear this: Jesus is not disappointed in you. He’s not asking you to perform your way into transformation. He’s offering you rest, and then He’s offering you a way to walk.
That’s what practice is. It’s not earning love. It’s learning a pace: the pace of Jesus. It’s staying close enough to remember what’s true.
Maybe you’ve gotten his far, and you're thinking, “Ok Stacy, What is a ‘practice, ' really?”
A practice is simply a repeated yes.
It’s the groove your life naturally falls into, whether you choose it intentionally or not. It’s what you return to when no one is clapping. It’s what you do on a normal Tuesday when motivation is low and the day is full.
Most of us don’t wake up and decide to become cynical, reactive, anxious, distracted, numb, or exhausted. We just keep repeating what’s easiest until it becomes what’s normal.
That’s why practices matter: they interrupt autopilot.
They don’t change us overnight. But over time, they reshape what we love, what we crave, what we believe, and how we respond. They form us: slowly, steadily, into someone.
So, the question becomes: Who do you want to become?
And what practices will carry you there?
Most transformation isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet and repeated.
A few minutes in Scripture. A short prayer while you wash dishes. A daily Examen before bed. A walk without your phone. A boundary that protects your soul. A pause before you react. A breath prayer in the car.
Small doesn’t mean insignificant. Small means sustainable.
And sustainable is what you need if you’re going to be formed over a lifetime. You don’t need to overhaul your whole life this week. You don’t need to become a new person by next Monday. You don’t need a perfect system. You need a gentle, realistic next step, the kind you can do again tomorrow.
Because wishes don’t shape a life…practices do.
If you’re reading this and thinking, I’m behind. I’ve wasted time. I’ve tried before, and I didn’t follow through. I want you to know: shame is not a spiritual discipline. It won’t form you into freedom. It will only make you hide.
The invitation of Jesus is never “try harder.” It’s “come closer.”
So, here’s a simple place to begin: no pressure, no gold star chart, no pretend version of your life.
Ask yourself two honest questions:
What has been forming me lately—on purpose or by default?
What is one practice that could help me return to God in the middle of real life?
Not ten practices. One.
And it can be small. Five minutes. A single psalm. A morning prayer before your feet hit the floor. One screen-free hour in the evening. One moment of silence. One habit of blessing your own body instead of punishing it. One weekly rhythm that reminds you: I belong to God. This is a process, and I am not my output.
You don’t need to be further along. You don’t need to have it figured out. You don’t need to leave with a checklist. My hope is simpler than that: that you feel a little more grounded, a little more invited, and a little more open to the gentle and ongoing work of God in you.
Yes, time is fleeting. We can’t get it back. We don’t control tomorrow. James reminds us of that for a reason.
But grace is steady, and God is not frantic. He is not anxious about your progress. He is patient, present, and committed to the slow work of forming you into love.
So take a breath. Let your shoulders drop. Let yourself arrive; right where you are.
This is a space for formation, not performance.
For becoming, not achieving.
For walking with Jesus, not keeping up.
And if you can only take one small step today, let it be this:
Choose one practice that helps you say yes to the forming work of God; gently, realistically, and over time.
Because time will pass either way.
But you don’t have to drift through it.
Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash
