For someone just walking into my office and seeing it on the wall, it would suggest that my age was making some aggressive inroads to my brain! The object would need an explanation. It’s a clock — an old one. Othel and I purchased it lots of years ago on a trip to Eureka Springs in Arkansas. It’s made of weathered, gray barn-wood with gold metallic numbers that log the time. A cut out circular spindle — like a miniature wagon wheel is hollowed out near the base of the elongated piece of wood.

The wood reminded me of my grandfather’s barn where I played in its giant loft with my siblings. And, I just like clocks. The price wasn’t exorbitant for a hand-crafted piece sporting a battery for its power, so the clock came home with us as a neat Arkansas souvenir.

That clock was one of the items that made it to our downsizing move to Brandon. It got its place on the wall among pictures of our grandchildren. A few months ago, I was reading from my chair that faces the clock wall and noticed the clock was slow — like hours slow. I got up to check it closer and moved the hands a bit, hoping they would wake up. They didn’t.

It had to be the battery, so I flipped the battery out and replaced it with a new Energizer. To my great disappointment, the second hand didn’t move and there were no ticks.

I remembered seeing clock kits in Hobby Lobby, so on my next trip to the shopping area, I bought another pop-in kit that I thought would fit. I thought wrong. The kit was too thick and wouldn’t allow room for the clock to hang on the wall.

Then I tried ordering from Amazon — the mystery store that has everything! After returning two different kits due to the same ordeal of wrong size, I decided to contact a watch repairman that I had met in Brandon. I needed an expert to give me the exact size and model I needed.

Here’s where the explanation is necessary. I hung the clock back in its regular place as a reminder to check on the replacement kit. So I have a unique clock — now very unique because it has no hands — just a dark hole where the clock’s hands should be.

Now this will sound REALLY strange, but I’m beginning to appreciate the clock the way it is. It serves as a frank reminder that there’s coming that awesome day when the saved will be “caught up in the air” — “ Two women will be grinding at the mill; one will be taken and one will be left.” Matthew 24. For the one not taken, time won’t matter anymore. It will be like my handless clock. There will be no more time to make eternal decisions.

When the thought of lost friends and relatives almost engulf me, my unique clock inspires me to keep praying and witnessing, because all clocks, with or without hands will be obsolete in heaven. It’s that unimaginable home where measurements for time will be eternally irrelevant.

Letters to Camille Anding may be sent to P.O. Box 551, Brookhaven, MS, 39602.