A Birthday Presence

My husband, he asked what I wanted for my birthday. A dozen items speed-raced through my mind, purchases I dreamt of having now. But the altruistic part of me surfaced, a truck for the toddlers I said, and two balloons. I can replace earphone set for IPOD. Later. And Sephora can wait too. On that special day, I reached into pansy-flowered gift bag, pulled out surprise and supersonic sound of whooooaaa! and ooohhh! awakened all ears. Happy faces spilled all over into celebration room and true to nature, toddlers want everything now. Chaos reigned as two dimpled sets of elbows jostled for birthday gift, flaming-orange tissue flying, each boy demanding temporary ownership of new toy, now. Original truck tossed aside, newer vehicle clutched in small hands, hands that wrestled for possession of novel model. Attempts to pacify, to moderate the tussling failed. And like all used goods and gifts, newness wears off, fades like late summer's eve. Later we sat outside, green maple leaves rustled light, warm breeze brushed our bodies and taxing toddlers' cries soon dwindled. Sephora gift card tucked away for future. Contented boys played with both trucks, kicked rubber ball and I watched, surely knowing best gift was presence. A breath, peaceful pause, appeasing interlude, this is what is needed, now. I glanced at another gift I had opened, one that held no interest for little boys; a new hummingbird feeder. My heart flipped happy cartwheels as faith rinsed off doubt. Like a hummingbird's tiny wings whirring in suspended motion, just before nose-diving in for sustenance, so too it is for me. The tranquil pause in midst of all the swirling activity, it feeds the soul this pause, nourishes the beautiful. The world grinds, it pulses with now and this intermission, it bathes and soothes, reminds that waiting is OK. The One who cares for the birds in the air, this One, He meets us right there, in the rest, and it feels like those lilies of the field, worries receding, gentled and scurrying noise and hurried pace it slows and surrenders to present. Breeze brushing cheek, toddler's innocent cry, hands crinkling up orange tissue, granddaughter who sung sweet over cell, and all I ever really wanted for my birthday was just this. A birthday filled with His presence.

The most important prayer in the world is just two words long: "Thank you."

Meister Eckhart

 

 

Every Good Thing

I asked her how she was doing, this gym friend of mine. She removed earbuds inserted in each ear, hesitated, then told me how she was doing, really. Unflinchingly I nodded, I knew, I understood, I knew that road.  A tricky part of this life is re-learning what you thought you had already nailed. To cross that bridge once again, all wobbly and worn from trodding rough terrain, and foot lodges between slats, sticky discouragement sets in. I wrote down two titles on yellow Post-it retrieved from staff member, who in turn agreed on one title, saying he reads it daily. I handed her the small piece of paper, a prescription for aches and pains, told her one of my own copies is worn thin from all the studying. From all the learning. From all the trying to get it right. That just this morning inspirational words, they leaped from an ear-marked page, astounding me with their fresh insight, even though I had read this entry already, perhaps a dozen times and this is why I offered my friend the titles. Every good thing begs to be shared, delighted in, a bountiful gift is passed on, into the hands of someone else. Another fellow traveler. Oswald Chambers explained in My Utmost For His Highest, "God will bring us back in countless ways to the same point over and over again. And He never tires of bringing us back to the one point until we learn the lesson, because His purpose is to produce a finished product."

Later at home, I clipped blossom for glass vase inside, and this very good thing caused tears of gratitude to well in my eyes. And those feet that still slip and often stumble, I humbly plant firmly in His grace.

 

 

Climbing that ladder, rung by rung, holding fast to this radical grace, to the One who stands at the top, gentle hands patiently waiting. The lessons, they get easier after time, exhorting the virtue of patience, especially with yourself, and  repeated messages, they don't appear so scary, more like text messages with holy wisdom. An accepting breath escaped that day, flowing free, unhindered, paving way for next faltering step, for re-learning that walk all over again. 

And every good thing is birthed in grace.

 I opened the devotional once again, an ear-marked page, a chance to begin anew.