It started out simply enough. I went for a walk. It was a little mommy-multitasking mission; I decided to walk while my son was in OT. It was a tiny act of obedience to my Lenten discipline of diet and exercise, on of my last acts before the end of Lent. And in this little act, though reluctantly and grudgingly offered, was a treasure.
This morning I read some words by Simsha Fisher, one of my heroes, and when I read her post, I couldn't get past the first few paragraphs. I was astounded. I wrote about seeing the beauty in the present moment but even in penning the piece, I knew something was missing.
I realize that in all of this, in all of this living, striving, looking back and looking forward, in all of this stuff of which my life is made, I have only now. I have this moment, this now. I have these children, this husband, this home, this mess, this body, these thoughts. I have right here, right now. And yet even in seeing that, I was missing the recognition of grace.
I'm living in a beautiful, crazy, chaotic world of clashing bells and clanging cymbals. It's busy here. Children are calling, birds are singing in the yard and my oldest is clattering around in the kitchen. And I live my life as if I had forever to savor these sounds.
In truth, not only do I want to celebrate the beauty of the present moment, I must recognize that all I truly have is the present moment. I have this time to hear a single "caw" of the grackle on the grass; this second to hear the clock tick one more time (and I never realized it was so loud). It is so quiet in this slowed down experience of the present that you could hear pin drop. Really I have not even a second, but a nano-second in which to reach out and grab it and say, "This, this now is my life. This is my moment."
I have this tiny particle of time in which to fall to my knees and be grateful.
And this I do.
And therein is my joy.
No comments:
Post a Comment