Whipping By
As I stepped gingerly out of his room, still peaceful from the cozy snuggling and warmth and feeling full from this baby love, I cherish that soft, wispy hair, those clear slowly-blinking eyes and the love that can only exist between a mother and baby. Oh, to prolong these days-- to make them last-- just one of them, into all eternity.
It was then I caught sight of them, the dozens of leaves whipping by, beautiful in their dying splendor. The wind bends the branches, leaves resign and let go, chasing air. I'm drawn to the activity, the beauty, the light. Sun makes its entrance gloriously and shines heat upon my face. Oh, thank you Jesus. For beauty and warmth and light.
A car whips by, stops abruptly in front of me and honks. Once, twice, three times. Let me in the gate. It speeds down the short driveway. Driver jumps out, ready for action. It is Sunday morning, but he is dressed casually, maybe for golf? What is the hurry? Why the honking? The rushing, the racing to the next thing? Did he see the leaves whipping by, hurrying to their end...Where they will land softly upon the hard ground, fodder for next spring's growth.
I wonder this and I ponder my life, so hurried, hurried, hurried. Quick, get in the car. Hurry, we are going to be late. Quick, keep moving so you don't feel it. The emptiness that haunts us. The guilt that plagues us, the loneliness that gnaws at us. This frenzy of activity. What is it all for?
"Be still and know that I am God." Do I know how to be still? Am I brave enough? Can I handle it? To be wholly present in a moment and sit still, really enjoy it, drink it up and feel full because of it?
I've been really trying lately to find something to give thanks for in every moment, even hurried and frenzied moments. And I'm realizing how quickly I can ruin a beautiful moment by worry. I can sit in a peaceful, quiet room with my baby and eat those minutes away panicking over the piles of laundry that need to be folded, the lists of groceries that need to be made, the sewing projects that need to be completed. As if worrying about them will help me get them done somehow.
And before I know it I'm resenting this precious baby that needs to be fed, and why won't he hurry up so I can get things done? Instead of "Thank you, Jesus," it's "Why, Jesus? Why all this work? Why all these burdens."
When I know better. When that day is burned into my soul. Four short years ago. When I held him for the last time. That precious boy. That precious gift. That eternal soul, lying dead on my bed, and I clutched him for the last time, asking "Why Jesus? Why this boy? Why my boy?" This gift, snatched from me forever.
What wouldn't I give for one more beautiful gift of a moment with him? To touch his rosy cheeks, plump hands, soft feet? To see his bright eyes light up upon seeing me. Would I quickly forget, and resent him taking up my time, my precious time where I could get things done?
Oh, Jesus, forgive me for my lack of grace, my failure to give thanks, my failure to love wholly. Have mercy on this weary soul. Fill me up with your mercy and grace. Give me eyes to see your gifts, every moment a gift.
It was then I caught sight of them, the dozens of leaves whipping by, beautiful in their dying splendor. The wind bends the branches, leaves resign and let go, chasing air. I'm drawn to the activity, the beauty, the light. Sun makes its entrance gloriously and shines heat upon my face. Oh, thank you Jesus. For beauty and warmth and light.
A car whips by, stops abruptly in front of me and honks. Once, twice, three times. Let me in the gate. It speeds down the short driveway. Driver jumps out, ready for action. It is Sunday morning, but he is dressed casually, maybe for golf? What is the hurry? Why the honking? The rushing, the racing to the next thing? Did he see the leaves whipping by, hurrying to their end...Where they will land softly upon the hard ground, fodder for next spring's growth.
I wonder this and I ponder my life, so hurried, hurried, hurried. Quick, get in the car. Hurry, we are going to be late. Quick, keep moving so you don't feel it. The emptiness that haunts us. The guilt that plagues us, the loneliness that gnaws at us. This frenzy of activity. What is it all for?
"Be still and know that I am God." Do I know how to be still? Am I brave enough? Can I handle it? To be wholly present in a moment and sit still, really enjoy it, drink it up and feel full because of it?
I've been really trying lately to find something to give thanks for in every moment, even hurried and frenzied moments. And I'm realizing how quickly I can ruin a beautiful moment by worry. I can sit in a peaceful, quiet room with my baby and eat those minutes away panicking over the piles of laundry that need to be folded, the lists of groceries that need to be made, the sewing projects that need to be completed. As if worrying about them will help me get them done somehow.
And before I know it I'm resenting this precious baby that needs to be fed, and why won't he hurry up so I can get things done? Instead of "Thank you, Jesus," it's "Why, Jesus? Why all this work? Why all these burdens."
When I know better. When that day is burned into my soul. Four short years ago. When I held him for the last time. That precious boy. That precious gift. That eternal soul, lying dead on my bed, and I clutched him for the last time, asking "Why Jesus? Why this boy? Why my boy?" This gift, snatched from me forever.
What wouldn't I give for one more beautiful gift of a moment with him? To touch his rosy cheeks, plump hands, soft feet? To see his bright eyes light up upon seeing me. Would I quickly forget, and resent him taking up my time, my precious time where I could get things done?
Oh, Jesus, forgive me for my lack of grace, my failure to give thanks, my failure to love wholly. Have mercy on this weary soul. Fill me up with your mercy and grace. Give me eyes to see your gifts, every moment a gift.
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