I remember a morning when I sent Lily and Rachel out to the car to look for Lily's bright pink parka. We had spent the whole day in the car the previous day - the eye doctor in the morning, the pizza restaurant for lunch, back to Rachel's school in the afternoon for a presentation about music lessons. Lily was carsick on the trip to the doctor so she got to ride in the front seat, an unusual treat for her. It was a long day and I was not surprised that all our belongings had not made it into the house when we got home.
So that morning we unearthed Rachel's schoolbus yellow jacket from the pile of coats in the breezeway, but Lily's fuschia coat was nowhere to be found. I sent the girls out to check the car. I was pretty sure the jacket would be there. Grabbing my own coat, I scrabbled through the key basket looking for the right key ring, dropped my phone in my purse and headed out the door, careful to slam it hard so the dog could not push it open while we were away. Juggling purse, keys and coffee cup as I slipped behind the wheel, I asked the girls chattering excitedly in the backseat if they had found the coat. No, they said, but they found Lily's leftover pizza from yesterday's lunch! They were both very interested in the pizza; the box was opened and the four leftover pieces were dangerously close to landing on the backseat in all their greasy glory. But, Rachel said, with real regret in her voice, "No, Mom, the coat is not here. I don't know where it is."
The glaringly pink coat, was, of course, right in front of her on the front passenger seat. The pizza box, however, had been on the dashboard, so they had had to climb directly over the coat to get to it. How, I asked myself, and them, could they have missed it? It was in plain view. But of course, I know how they missed it. Because I have missed the obvious myself when I was distracted by something that caught my eye or my imagination, something that looked more interesting and fulfilling than the mundane task at hand. I can not only walk into a room and forget what I am looking for, I can walk through my life and forget why I am there. If I don't remind myself every day what is really important I lose my focus all over again.
I woke up this morning again trying to remember what was really important in my life, in anyone's life. I had fallen out of this habit for a while- a cancer diagnosis and then seven weeks of treatment had actually pushed that big question out of the way for awhile. I knew what I needed to do every day when I woke up. I did not need to evaluate my choices or compare my life to anyone else's. Everything was crystal clear for awhile. But now I am back to my everyday life, to the housework and shopping and childcare. The crisis is over for now, at least, and I lie in bed as the room grows lighter and wonder if I have done anything in my entire life that is of lasting worth. I wonder how to salvage the hours of the day ahead so that I will have something to show for the time I've spent when I climb back in bed tonight. I recall the orthodox formulas I have memorized over a lifetime - "The chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever" "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your strength and all your mind." "He has showed thee, O man, what is good and what the Lord requires of you - to do justice and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." But I still wonder every morning what it means to love God, how to do that in the next 12 hours, the next 12 years. The older I get, the more mundane my life appears. I will probably never publish a book, never do some great humanitarian work, never run a marathon, never have that second career that will make up for the lack of a first career! Every morning I feel like I need to figure out again how to love God and walk humbly with Him in the midst of cleaning the house, doing the endless laundry, taking the dogs for walks and occasionally writing a paragraph or two. I don't know why I have to grapple with the same questions over and over, why they never stay answered. Maybe the answers are part of the daily bread that I must receive anew from God's hand every morning. Or maybe I just have a really bad memory for important details.
So that morning we unearthed Rachel's schoolbus yellow jacket from the pile of coats in the breezeway, but Lily's fuschia coat was nowhere to be found. I sent the girls out to check the car. I was pretty sure the jacket would be there. Grabbing my own coat, I scrabbled through the key basket looking for the right key ring, dropped my phone in my purse and headed out the door, careful to slam it hard so the dog could not push it open while we were away. Juggling purse, keys and coffee cup as I slipped behind the wheel, I asked the girls chattering excitedly in the backseat if they had found the coat. No, they said, but they found Lily's leftover pizza from yesterday's lunch! They were both very interested in the pizza; the box was opened and the four leftover pieces were dangerously close to landing on the backseat in all their greasy glory. But, Rachel said, with real regret in her voice, "No, Mom, the coat is not here. I don't know where it is."
The glaringly pink coat, was, of course, right in front of her on the front passenger seat. The pizza box, however, had been on the dashboard, so they had had to climb directly over the coat to get to it. How, I asked myself, and them, could they have missed it? It was in plain view. But of course, I know how they missed it. Because I have missed the obvious myself when I was distracted by something that caught my eye or my imagination, something that looked more interesting and fulfilling than the mundane task at hand. I can not only walk into a room and forget what I am looking for, I can walk through my life and forget why I am there. If I don't remind myself every day what is really important I lose my focus all over again.
I woke up this morning again trying to remember what was really important in my life, in anyone's life. I had fallen out of this habit for a while- a cancer diagnosis and then seven weeks of treatment had actually pushed that big question out of the way for awhile. I knew what I needed to do every day when I woke up. I did not need to evaluate my choices or compare my life to anyone else's. Everything was crystal clear for awhile. But now I am back to my everyday life, to the housework and shopping and childcare. The crisis is over for now, at least, and I lie in bed as the room grows lighter and wonder if I have done anything in my entire life that is of lasting worth. I wonder how to salvage the hours of the day ahead so that I will have something to show for the time I've spent when I climb back in bed tonight. I recall the orthodox formulas I have memorized over a lifetime - "The chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever" "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your strength and all your mind." "He has showed thee, O man, what is good and what the Lord requires of you - to do justice and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God." But I still wonder every morning what it means to love God, how to do that in the next 12 hours, the next 12 years. The older I get, the more mundane my life appears. I will probably never publish a book, never do some great humanitarian work, never run a marathon, never have that second career that will make up for the lack of a first career! Every morning I feel like I need to figure out again how to love God and walk humbly with Him in the midst of cleaning the house, doing the endless laundry, taking the dogs for walks and occasionally writing a paragraph or two. I don't know why I have to grapple with the same questions over and over, why they never stay answered. Maybe the answers are part of the daily bread that I must receive anew from God's hand every morning. Or maybe I just have a really bad memory for important details.
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