Wasted. How many things are wasted? How much beauty is never seen,
heard, savored? God himself loves me and wants me and found me and
forgave me...He wants to pour out my life..."waste" the beauty
he poured into me, by pouring it out on Him. It's the shower worship
songs, the love songs written in paper journals and notebooks, the tears kissed from a toddler's face, the kindness shown to a stranger...food
given to someone who is hungry; prayers whispered in darkness...this is the pouring of the oil on the
feet of Jesus. This is the worship and adoration...the love He
treasures. He sees. HE SEES!
Even when you feel like no one else is paying attention...He is!
You who bottle our tears, number our hairs. You are holy! (Psalm 56:8, Luke 12:7)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4tOLasbXWs&feature=share&list=RDo4tOLasbXWs
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
"Teach us to number our days"
Here I am. Another day gone by. Sitting in front of the computer, kids to put to bed. The kitchen is mostly cleaned, though it took two hours. My husband, still in the basement. Emotionally absent. Here, but not here. Every night I realize it, as I look in the mirror. First the tooth brushing, then the face washing. Take out the contacts, swallow the allergy pill. Do I need a tums? I ate spicy food today, better safe then sorry. Take the nightly wee wee to the pottie. Back to the mirror to tidy up the sink. Then I look at myself. I stop and think. I remember being here last night, and the night before, and the night before, and a thousand nights before. Always thinking the same thing. Always hearing the steady ticking of the relentless clock. Nothing can be frozen in time except pictures. Even those fade with time.
I was five, 15, 25...now 35. Tomorrow I will be 45, a grandma, an octenegarian gazing at the young girl in my eyes, framed by wrinkles and age spots. Wrinkles and watery eyes disguising me.
I watch my children grow. I wish I could freeze frame Lilah's two-ness, or keep Elijah's 4 year old smile encased in summer sunlight. I look at the new little one, only 1 month old. Already 1 month old. Wasn't it just yesterday I was leaning on the counter in front of the mirror, my pregnant girth, looming before me? I felt like a huge mountain, like the waddling and back pain would never end. Though a bit of the flab still lingers, and though I need to lose 40 lbs, I honestly can say (in comparison to how I felt a month ago) that I feel light and fluffy. Like grandma's biscuit's. Biscuits which I now need to refrain from eating. sigh...
And the beat goes on.
"Teach us to number our days, so that [we] may gain a heart of wisdom". True and powerful words. Is their meaning in the evening contemplations and the moments that catch us unaware? Moments where time stands still and we stand outside of the room, looking in at our lives. Moments when we are aware of the clock ticking and the looming stillness of the future? The calm before a wave hits you in the face and you stumble back, blinking back into reality?
Teach me to number my days, to savor moments, and people, and beauty. To find truth and wonder in simple things. To see the extravagance in the every day. I don't know if it matters in the long run, if all of these moments are swallowed by the vastness of eternity and the inevitability of change. Maybe if we stop to think, to pause in the midst of these moments, to feel and absorb and truly be IN the moments, maybe when the years are past, we will not find ourselves wondering where the time has gone. Maybe there will be a quiet satisfaction and peace within us, like the feeling one gets after savoring a good cup of coffee, or enjoying a long, leisurely meal with a loved one. I guess we'll see. Right now I am going to savor the sounds of my children talking upstairs in their bedroom, of the baby sighing in her sleep beside me, sounds that are a part of this fleeting phase. Someday, when it is silent in my home, and I am sitting down in the evening, I hope I will remember that one night, long ago, I savored a moment and captured it with the picture of my words.
I was five, 15, 25...now 35. Tomorrow I will be 45, a grandma, an octenegarian gazing at the young girl in my eyes, framed by wrinkles and age spots. Wrinkles and watery eyes disguising me.
I watch my children grow. I wish I could freeze frame Lilah's two-ness, or keep Elijah's 4 year old smile encased in summer sunlight. I look at the new little one, only 1 month old. Already 1 month old. Wasn't it just yesterday I was leaning on the counter in front of the mirror, my pregnant girth, looming before me? I felt like a huge mountain, like the waddling and back pain would never end. Though a bit of the flab still lingers, and though I need to lose 40 lbs, I honestly can say (in comparison to how I felt a month ago) that I feel light and fluffy. Like grandma's biscuit's. Biscuits which I now need to refrain from eating. sigh...
And the beat goes on.
"Teach us to number our days, so that [we] may gain a heart of wisdom". True and powerful words. Is their meaning in the evening contemplations and the moments that catch us unaware? Moments where time stands still and we stand outside of the room, looking in at our lives. Moments when we are aware of the clock ticking and the looming stillness of the future? The calm before a wave hits you in the face and you stumble back, blinking back into reality?
Teach me to number my days, to savor moments, and people, and beauty. To find truth and wonder in simple things. To see the extravagance in the every day. I don't know if it matters in the long run, if all of these moments are swallowed by the vastness of eternity and the inevitability of change. Maybe if we stop to think, to pause in the midst of these moments, to feel and absorb and truly be IN the moments, maybe when the years are past, we will not find ourselves wondering where the time has gone. Maybe there will be a quiet satisfaction and peace within us, like the feeling one gets after savoring a good cup of coffee, or enjoying a long, leisurely meal with a loved one. I guess we'll see. Right now I am going to savor the sounds of my children talking upstairs in their bedroom, of the baby sighing in her sleep beside me, sounds that are a part of this fleeting phase. Someday, when it is silent in my home, and I am sitting down in the evening, I hope I will remember that one night, long ago, I savored a moment and captured it with the picture of my words.
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