on measurable things

 

Instead of hours, let’s measure the days in words that rhyme, in flowers, in gifts given and noticed and treasured

Let’s measure the days in conversations that get to the heart of things,

in sermon reflections, books in the park, 

morning devotions, seeds planted.

Let’s measure the notes from the piano

the snores of the old dog

the pages of Harry Potter read aloud

and the bottles and bottles of ranch dressing

Let’s measure the long kisses in the kitchen

and the eyerolls from the children

and the inside jokes we will not share.

Instead of weight and sag and stretch

let’s measure life poured out and given

this wild garden, planted, watered, fed,

but still wild, preparing to fly

Let’s count not the pimples but the persistence,

the patient perseverance of the pianist

and the pages turned by the reluctant reader.

Instead of hours, let’s measure the days in growth of the human spirits under this one roof.

Can you measure the height or the strength of a soul,

or the courage mustered to inch out of the comfort zone?

Can you see that the soul that is bowed down now is only just cocooning before transformation?

Can you measure what matters?