Events and the Now

I want to be a person who can live in the moment. As I stop to think about it, I am astounded that after 50 years of life experience, I am still grappling with exactly how to be fully present . . . and fully alive . . . in my immediate “Now.” I have been anxious about the future. I have been nostalgic about the past. I have allowed myself far too much liberty in becoming stressed with the present. But I really don’t think I have mastered . . . in 50 years of living . . . the art of living Now.

I think I have fallen into the trap of living my life as a collection of events.

First there have been the planned events. They were prepared for. They were executed to the best of my ability. Then they were recorded and catalogued . . . in pictures or writings or memories. And they were finally relegated to the recesses of experience where I could access them for future planned events. Neatly packaged.

Then there have been the unplanned events. Some of them wonderfully waltzed into my life with the joy and laughter of a happy surprise. Some of them body-slammed me with the gut-wrenching horror of an unexpected shock. Some of them I have immensely enjoyed. Some of them I have barely survived. They too, of course, were still events . . . life happenings. Just not so neatly packaged.

But I am beginning to wonder if this “life-event” mentality is shortchanging me. If l have been living from one event to another . . . then what has been happening to the in-between times? It certainly cannot be possible that God is silent in-between. It cannot be possible that nothing important transpires in-between. It could, however, be possible that I am missing something in-between.

So . . . maybe . . . instead of life being a collection of events . . . maybe life is a progression of moments. And maybe life’s real challenge isn’t to have successful events but to find real Life in every moment.

If this is true, then my salvation is not just a life-changing event. It is more. It is an astounding moment-to-moment continuing journey with the Creator of the universe. Every moment of every day. Even when the only event happening is a lovely sunset or a quiet starry night.

And motherhood is not just an emotionally-charged birth. It is more. It is a committed, enduring relationship of ups and downs with someone who is so like me yet very much NOT me. Every moment of every day. Even when I haven’t spoken with my child in days . . . or weeks . . . or years.

And my father’s death isn’t just a final medical tragedy. It is more. It is the temporary postponement of a joyous reunion in eternity when there will be no more pain or worry or cancer. Every moment of every day. Even if I miss his laugh and his warm, assuring encouragement today.

DeVern Fromke, in his book Unto Full Stature puts it this way:

It is just here we see the glaring weakness in many fundamental circles. Too many emphasize the past-tense crisis act and almost ignore the privilege of the continuous present participation. They rejoice in the finished work, but know or seemingly care little about the continuous operation of Life within them by the Holy Spirit. It is one thing to have received “Life in the Son,” but it is sure an equal privilege to enjoy the vital participation in Life every day by His Spirit.

Vital participation in Life every day. By His Spirit. I think that is what I need.

Live in the moment. With Him. By Him. Because of Him. Every moment of every day.

Hear Him.
Appreciate Him.
Agree with Him.
Work with Him.

Rejoice with Him.

Let Him console you.
Be loved by Him.
And love Him back.
Through every event.
And especially in-between.

It is true, I think, that events are markers in the progression of our lives. But I am thinking that the stuff life is really made of is its moments. And true artistry is living each one to its fullest. In Him.

I want to be a person who can really live in the moment.

John 1:4
In Him is Life.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

Hannah's Wedding

The sound of Hannah’s Wedding is what I remember most. Of course the flowers were beautiful. The ceremony was truly sweet. Hannah was absolutely gorgeous in her beaded, fairy-tale dress. And the reception at The Bower’s Barn could not have been more perfect.

But this afternoon, as I putz through another Kirkhaven Monday, it is the sound of Hannah’s Wedding that I remember most vividly. My heart still resonates with it. It’s a warm, rich, patchwork-quilt kind of clatter that says, “The saints of God have come. And blessing is raining.”
Hannah Grace contentedly hummed on her daddy’s lap . . .
Mom Ann chatted quietly with Wendy in the vestibule . . .
Roonie laughed . . .
Angel whispered as she hugged a friend . . .

I stood in the doorway of the sanctuary at Hannah's Wedding, with my eyes closed, and let my heart become drenched with the sound of God’s precious people. I listened to it . . . this symphony of fellowship. I listened because I had heard it before. I listened because I knew . . . when I heard it . . . that Father had sent His most treasured envoys to bear his rarest gifts. Gifts found only in His Son and in the fellowship of His people:

I knew there would be joy.
I knew there would be peace.

I knew there would be love.

The celebration would be lavish.

The blessing would be enduring.

And it truly was.

God's people had come to Hannah's Wedding.
And the sound was glorious.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

The List

I had a list today, but I put it away. Lynne said that I should. “Get your camera and take that walk,” she said as we chatted on the phone. It seemed too lavish. My husband, after all, was working. And I had important things to do. Some of my chores were even “carry-overs” from Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. But I wasn’t horribly resolute about this list today. And I can say, “Lynne made me do it.” I totally love a good excuse.

So I took a long walk. A leg-stretching, deep sighing, traipsing and meandering kind of stroll. I watched insects in the meadow. Searched for deer and turkey tracks on the soggy forest path. Closed my eyes and breathed intoxicating scents of honeysuckle and wild berry blooms. And I made a different list. Here it is.

1. Fog is quieting. Especially when it is lifting. It shushes my mind so my soul can think.

2. Salmon-pink azalea blooms can survive a thunderstorm. I presumed that this morning’s pouring rain and gusting wind had smooshed them. Delicate beauty is hardier than it seems.

3. The Gerber Daisies are back! Growing right where they were planted last year. In the middle of the weeds I should clear. I guess some things don’t need my fussing and tending to thrive. Or even my faith in their ability to survive the winter. They managed it all without me. I love surprises like that.

4. I haven’t seen the turkeys today, but they left a feather in the meadow below the cottage. I feel pretty sure the turkey hasn't missed it. For him, it is completely replacable. For me, it is a small treasure.

5. There is something very poignant about beautiful things that only last a moment. Like water droplets on blades of grass. We walk on them. The wind blows them away. The sun evaporates them. But sometimes, if we stand very still and look, we can see them before they disappear. And then they are always remembered.

6. I am not really sure which I love more: blackberry blooms or blackberry cobblers. Both, however, grow on sprawling bushes that have intolerable thorns. Several things I truly love are like that.

7. You can’t really predict where bugs are going to land. You definitely have to be watching. If you hate bugs, their landing could be a catastrophe. If you are fascinated by them, their landing is a gift. I am thinking that sometimes the difference between a catastrophe and a gift is simply perspective.

8. I found a four-leafed clover in the yard.

9. I lost a poodle in the field.

10. And she was NOT too happy about being found.

I finished my walk and sat at the computer eating Orange-Almond-Spiced Homemade Granola (a Wendy Cantrell special treat) as I clicked through all the photos I had taken.

Here is my conclusion on the subject of lists:

Lists can be a good thing if they are inspiring and nourishing.
Lists can be a bad thing if they are demanding and stifling.
But lists can be a blessed thing if they bring your heart and your mind to the kind of quiet rest that allows the voice of God to be heard. And believed. And acted upon.

All in all, lists are really just neutral.

But what we do with our lists . . . that, seems to me, to be the thing that defines them.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid