This morning, with a warm cup of coffee in hand, I settled into my usual spot for devotions. The house was quiet, and for once, there was no rush. It was one of those rare mornings where time felt generous, as if offering me a chance to sit and breathe.
The Greeks had two words for time: chronos and kairos. Chronos is clock time, the steady ticking forward, the schedules that line up our days. But kairos is different — it’s time that isn’t measured but felt, those rare pauses where something sacred slips into the ordinary.
As I started to reflect, jotting down what I was grateful for, the tension of the day ahead began to ease. I wasn’t writing out of obligation, but because I wanted to. I noted the warmth of my coffee, the silence, the feeling of being unrushed. And in that small act, chronos seemed to disappear. I wasn’t watching the clock — I was simply there, caught in a moment of kairos.
This doesn’t happen every day. Most of the time, I’m running from one task to the next, watching the hours slip by. But mornings like this remind me there’s more to life than chronos. In these pauses, when I slow down enough to truly see what’s in front of me, I find a different kind of richness.
The lesson is this: chronos will always move forward, but kairos is something we have to choose. It’s found when we step outside the rush, let go of the clock, and savor the moment. These pauses don’t shout; they whisper, inviting us to see that life is full not because of its length but because of its depth.
So today, as my coffee went cold and my heart grew warm, I was reminded that while chronos keeps life in order, kairos fills it with meaning. And if I seek these moments, I may find they’re what truly make time worth living.
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