Yesterday I heard something that has stayed with me. It made me rethink my relationship with time.
That time isn’t something we earn, unlike wages or education. Time is something we’re given as a gift from God.
In the Qur’an, there’s a short chapter where Allah swears by time — and then says something striking: that humanity is in loss.
At first, that feels heavy.
But the more I sit with it, the more I see the truth in it.
Because “loss” doesn’t mean failure. It means something is being spent – quietly, constantly. Whether we notice it or not.
Every day, time is passing.
Opportunities are being used, or missed. Moments are lived, or rushed through. And we don’t get them back.
The Qur’an doesn’t leave us there though. It gives a simple way to live differently:
Be grounded in faith.
Do what is good.
Be truthful.
Stay patient.
Here’s where it becomes personal for me. Living with an incurable cancer has changed my relationship with time.
I don’t experience it as something abstract anymore. I experience it as something borrowed.
I don’t know how much of it I have.
And maybe none of us do.
Some of us just know it sooner.
And strangely, that hasn’t made life feel smaller. It’s made it clearer.
I still plan my days.
But now, my days are shaped by what matters most to me;
- my health and vitality,
- being of service,
- spirituality,
- continuing to learn,
- nurturing my relationships,
- making space for joy and fun, and
- living with purpose.
These are the things I want my time to reflect. Not perfectly. But intentionally.
I don’t do this to control time anymore. I do it to honour it.
Because I don’t control how much time I have. But I do choose how I meet the time I’ve been given.
Less rushing. More presence.
Less postponing. More intention.
Because if time is a gift,
then how I live is my response.
What does it mean to you to honour the time you’ve been given?
