What would it take for me to have a miracle-filled Monday? Good news from my father's doctor, as our hearts are preparing for something very bad indeed? A positive word from a friend whose parents, too, are waiting on answers? A complete recovery of the child of a friend who lives, suddenly, at the Children's Medical Center after the discovery of a rare and virulent form of brain cancer? Or would it simply be looking at all the day does bring to me with an eye for those miracles?
As I type, I hear my children's feet prancing like reindeer above me as they try to determine if it is morning-enough to rise. Their sound alone is life....the present....the miraculous. How do I cultivate those eyes? And must it rest on an experience of tragic proportions? Why must every hymn that truly moves me come out of the author's encounter with loss so deep as to threaten to shake the ground on which I stand?
I'm struck at the moment that primary teachers of this "the present is all" philosophy are the parents of Elizabeth mentioned above, suffering through the very largest of questions about the purpose of life, the intention for their daughter's time on earth....because as they see very dire numbers put on that time, they are cherishing her more and more and more. Loss is a continual threat and reality. Those of us not experiencing it simply lose sight of this current that runs beneath us.
How can I focus today on cherishing rather than fearing? What can I already see with grateful eyes?
*Saturday's performance of the Black Nativity, my sister's annual Christmas tradition--shared this year with the kids and me. There's a quotation about music reminding us of a truth we cannot yet know that struck me so fully as the swaying singers sashayed past us singing "Go Tell It On the Mountain," the opening piece. Their voices resonated at a place far beyond my mind, and I was living a truth I cannot seem to grasp with my head.
*The rising of the sun, new every morning. Though I'm in full Monday mode, wishing desperately for another day with my family, this day is new--there are discoveries to be made, contributions to offer.
*The warmth of our home--and the kids' valuing of this through our nightly prayers of gratitude. I'm proud to have a child who speaks about the importance of shelter for people, and what we must do to support people who don't have it.
*Lighting the Advent candles yesterday in church. Though in the moment I was too focused on keeping Lucas from kissing the candle and remembering who was reading what, I loved that as a family we were taking part in this honor.
*Baking my mom's candy cane rolls, a tradition that never fails to bring her to life for me each Christmas.
Wishing you a miracle-filled Monday....
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I am truly amazed at our journeys' parallels ... both waiting, both purposefully trying to focus on the miracles despite whatever nagging fears clutch at our shirtsleeves -- trying to be grateful rather than afraid. I loved how you questioned, "How do I cultivate those eyes?" Yes ... cultivate. An action, a work to do. The eyes are there, the miracles are there -- it's a discipline to truly see it.
I appreciate how you use the word "miracles" to describe some of the most everyday occurrences -- a beautiful reminder that yes, indeed, our children's feet and our warm homes and even email to quickly drop and receive notes to and from friends for an immediate cyber-hug or word of encouragement are just that -- miracles, every day.
Thank you for your companionship on this journey -- it's nice to be together, side by side. Thank you for opening my eyes to what I too am trying hard to work on ... seeing with grateful eyes.
My prayers are with you today.
Post a Comment