That moment when you finally start working in the school room, and summer dies.
I should be more organized. This is ridiculous. Here's where all the pens went. (The rumble of my inner Martha- Jesus, why is nobody helping me!?)
I see under-utilized resources we will never again have time for, put in the giveaway heap with regrets, wistfulness- there is simply not enough time. Have I even chosen well?
There is no certainty, only a river that keeps moving and too quickly, loose ends and half-filled notebooks everywhere.
Meanwhile the boys are restless, they want to do something today but nobody wants to do the same thing and there’s simply not enough of me, not enough time. I get snappy in the frustration of it all. The boy retreats; but moments later tries again with a peacemaking heart and a gentle invitation for me, into relationship and play, out from under the piles that suffocate me.
Son, I see you, and I will hear your invitation.
But first I must take care of this weight on my chest.
It’s a little like gathering everybody for a family meeting, watching them stare at me from the couch while I try to referee, let everyone be heard, make peace where there is tension.
Yes, we are called to serve and to work, and that often means doing hard things. It can’t always be vacation. Yet, even this desire goes awry when it’s insatiable, when the answer to “Am I OK? Can I rest?” is sought only at the end of the ever-expanding checklist.
And yes, time is fleeting, and these precious faces won’t be around my table forever. It is good to pour out love, to connect deeply, to play and enjoy these relationships. And it’s also true that THIS desire goes awry when it’s insatiable, when the answer to “Will I be OK?” is sought only in the current and future OK-ness of the people I love.
And the children make faces at these bulldozing adults, muttering “I told you so” and “lighten up!” and “you take yourself too seriously!” Pencils are thrown, and I hear the beginning notes of the music that will lead to exuberance and dancing if I let it…
How does a divided heart learn to take turns? How to accept limitations, to bear being finite with faith and good cheer? What could it mean for each part of my heart to live captive to the will of Christ?
Jesus, come near! Give me the will to keep showing up to this unfinished, imperfect life, with my antenna tuned to Your will moment by moment, as I stumble along the way of your easy yoke.
