Every morning I wake up and know within the first few minutes how much energy I have been allotted for the day. Sometimes it's more. Sometimes it's less. But every day, I have an allowance of energy and I have to decide how best to use it.
Today I expended a large chunk of my allowance on simply washing my hair. And then I drove to Hope to take my pictures and then I sat in the car for a while, trying to decide if I had enough energy for the service. I decided I did and then before the service even started I managed to have two conversations with people, one of whom I hadn't been able to chat with in months and another who I'm just getting to know.
It was energy well spent.
Two years ago, I was teaching fulltime, attending seminary once a week at night, going to both Sunday services, and managing to make it church on Tuesdays and Wednesdays for other functions.
A few days ago, I told God that if I were healthy, I could do all those things and still complete this project 365 Days of Hope.
But in the silence and stillness that followed that short prayer, I learned something very important. If I was doing all the things I had been doing two years ago, yes, I could do 365 Days of Hope, but it would be low on the list of things I did that day. It would be an afterthought. It would be rushed. There would definitely be less time for me to write.
So, I'm blessed, as it turns out. Because now, the most important thing I do every day is 365 Days of Hope. Driving to church. Walking the grounds. Feeling the change in seasons. Relishing the silence. Soaking in that wonderful Godlight.
It is the most important thing I do.
My physical healing may not be progressing at the rate I would like it to, but my emotional and spiritual life is currently be tended to in the only way it can be. God works with us, wherever we are at and with whatever we can offer.
And already I feel the changes.
It used to be that it would take me forever to find a bird in the trees and zooming in the tree made me dizzy and unsteady as I tried to find whatever was hiding behind the leaves.
But now, I find them with ease, sometimes by their color, a splash of red among the green, and sometimes by the slightest detail, like the sharp, pointed beak that breaks up the silhouette of a neighboring leaf.
Look at this picture I took today. The bird almost vanishes, becomes a leaf itself. But I found it.
Seek and ye shall find. It's a recurring theme. And one that cannot be ignored.
Today I expended a large chunk of my allowance on simply washing my hair. And then I drove to Hope to take my pictures and then I sat in the car for a while, trying to decide if I had enough energy for the service. I decided I did and then before the service even started I managed to have two conversations with people, one of whom I hadn't been able to chat with in months and another who I'm just getting to know.
It was energy well spent.
Two years ago, I was teaching fulltime, attending seminary once a week at night, going to both Sunday services, and managing to make it church on Tuesdays and Wednesdays for other functions.
A few days ago, I told God that if I were healthy, I could do all those things and still complete this project 365 Days of Hope.
But in the silence and stillness that followed that short prayer, I learned something very important. If I was doing all the things I had been doing two years ago, yes, I could do 365 Days of Hope, but it would be low on the list of things I did that day. It would be an afterthought. It would be rushed. There would definitely be less time for me to write.
So, I'm blessed, as it turns out. Because now, the most important thing I do every day is 365 Days of Hope. Driving to church. Walking the grounds. Feeling the change in seasons. Relishing the silence. Soaking in that wonderful Godlight.
It is the most important thing I do.
My physical healing may not be progressing at the rate I would like it to, but my emotional and spiritual life is currently be tended to in the only way it can be. God works with us, wherever we are at and with whatever we can offer.
And already I feel the changes.
It used to be that it would take me forever to find a bird in the trees and zooming in the tree made me dizzy and unsteady as I tried to find whatever was hiding behind the leaves.
But now, I find them with ease, sometimes by their color, a splash of red among the green, and sometimes by the slightest detail, like the sharp, pointed beak that breaks up the silhouette of a neighboring leaf.
Look at this picture I took today. The bird almost vanishes, becomes a leaf itself. But I found it.
Seek and ye shall find. It's a recurring theme. And one that cannot be ignored.
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