Deacon Paul Nghia Pham

THE BROKEN WATCH

“My times are in Your hands.” — Psalm 31:15

I found it at the bottom of an old drawer —
a wristwatch I hadn’t worn in years.
The leather strap was cracked, the glass was scratched,
and the second hand had stopped at 11:42, frozen mid-tick.

I wound it gently.
Nothing.
I tapped it.
Still nothing.

Life had kept moving… but the watch had not.

I almost put it aside, but something made me slip it onto my wrist anyway.
It felt strange wearing a watch that no longer kept time —
a reminder of a moment that had tried to last forever.

That morning, I visited a man recovering from heart surgery.
He looked weary, like someone who had been waiting a long time for strength to return.

“Deacon,” he said softly, “I feel stuck.
Everyone else seems to be moving forward.
But I’m… paused.
I’m behind.”

I glanced at the broken watch on my wrist and felt a strange stirring inside.

Quietly, I told him,
“Sometimes the clock stops,
but life hasn’t.
Sometimes your body stops,
but God hasn’t.
Sometimes your strength stops,
but grace hasn’t.”

He stared at the watch, then whispered,
“I hope God still knows what time it is for me.”

“He does,” I said.
“My times are in His hands — even when my watch doesn’t work.”

He closed his eyes, and I saw his shoulders relax.
Not because his problems disappeared,
but because the pressure did.

On the drive home, I kept looking at the watch.
The frozen 11:42 stared back at me, like a moment caught in amber.

And I thought about all the moments in life where time seems to stop:

The moment grief hits.
The moment a relationship breaks.
The moment the diagnosis changes everything.
The moment a dream collapses.
The moment a prayer seems unanswered.

We keep moving outwardly,
but something inside us stands still — paused by pain.

Later that evening, I took the watch to a repair shop.
The man behind the counter wore thick glasses and a magnifying loupe.

He looked at the watch for less than five seconds before saying,
“It’s the mainspring. It’s worn out.
But don’t worry — I can fix it.”

He smiled warmly and added,
“Nothing is too old to run again.”

Those words hit me harder than he knew.

As I left the shop, I thought:
How many people feel like broken watches?
Stopped.
Behind.
Too old.
Too late.

But God never says that.
God never looks at a life and says, “Unrepairable.”
He never looks at our story and says, “Out of time.”
He never looks at a heart and says, “Too far gone.”

When I returned to pick up the watch the next day, the repairman handed it back proudly.

“It’s running perfectly now,” he said.
“Just needed a new spring.
Everything else was fine.
The outside aged, but the heart could be renewed.”

I stared at the ticking hands —
steady, confident, alive.

And something deep in my soul whispered:
So can yours.

On my way home, I stopped at the park.
The sky was turning gold, the air cool and soft.
I sat on a bench and listened to the gentle tick on my wrist.
Each second felt like a small miracle.

Time was moving again.
Not because the world said so,
but because something inside had been restored.

I thought of the psalmist’s words:
“My times are in Your hands.”

Not in my control.
Not in my expectations.
Not in my fears.
Not in a broken watch.

But in hands that never fail,
never rush,
never delay.

That night, I placed the watch on my nightstand.
I didn’t just see a repaired timepiece —
I saw a truth:

Life’s pauses do not mean God has stopped working.
He often does His deepest work while we feel frozen.
And when He is ready,
life begins to tick again — gently, faithfully, right on time.

Before bed, I whispered into the quiet room,
“Lord… thank You for being on time even when I’m not.”

And for the first time in a long while,
I felt completely at peace with the pace of my life.

Because every second —
moving or still —
is held in a Hand that never stops loving.

When your life feels paused, remember — God’s timing is never broken, and He is never late for your story.