Today began with a text: "Can Jordan sleep at your house?"
(We spoke last nite of the possibility because her son was not well.)
My boys have both been hit with 'junk'...Isaac has a sinus infection (which means he is on steroids and we know what that does to a child!) and Caleb has had NO energy for the last two days, so having Jordan sleep in my bed until 1:30 today was no big deal.
Dad headed to the VA this morning, a stress test (the one he stressed over for three days). Hence, my day was planned out for me before my feet hit the floor. Care for three ill boys, keep my mother company, lunches, emails, funnel cake making for Isaac, check math work, grammar explanation to Caleb, feed Jordan VERY LITTLE FOOD because I DO NOT DO VOMIT!
But between these duties, I squeezed in a video on how to make newspaper pots...it only took me watching four times and making several attempts before I felt like I knew what I was doing.
With dad being gone and mom just sitting at the kitchen table, I invited her to join me outside. She fed the hens stale bread, I constructed origami pots and the boys worked on different subjects, while Jordan slept soundly.
After a while of folding straight and not-so-straight lines, coupled by checking grammar with Caleb, mom needed to go to the 'john', as she puts it. She teetered out of the whicker chair, my hand holding hers until she stepped up into the den and took hold of her walker. As I sat back down at the circular glass table in the shade, papers strewn, pots precariously laid underneath, I began to read the obituaries.
My first thought was,
'These people are already deceased and now their last memory is being buried in the earth, casings for my tomato or chive plants.'
Thoughts lingering, I saw a portrait of a beautiful woman that passed last week.
She was only six years older than I am.
Married thirty five years; left behind four children.
College graduate, teacher.
She just finished her Master's degree!
Died of cancer.
A man, only thirty seven. No words as to why he died so young, but he left a wife behind. There were several elderly men; that made me think of my dad. Some of the women's pictures were of when they were young. Why no recent picture? I know--silly question.
Of course, my next thought was of my own obituary. Many trails could be taken here, but for this particular post, I will stay on a narrow path.
“LORD, remind me how brief my time on earth will be. Remind me that my days are numbered— how fleeting my life is." Psalm 39:4
What intrigues me most is how 'One Thousand Gifts' has already begun to wreck my world...
...in a good way!
In her book, Ann speaks about living life to the fullest now.
(You'll have to get your own copy!)
I see more clearly today that living is the moment I have right now and to live it well I need to give thanks for each moment, good or bad. I chuckle now that I think about how sweetly Daddy is teaching me to think differently, look at each moment of my days differently.
...through His lens of light, love.
So all the laundry, picking up boy socks, old man's baseball caps, breakfast, lunch, dinner planning is not time wasted, but rather, time spent living and loving.
If those are the things that are on my newspaper clipping after I'm gone, then my life was spent well because it was the life He gave me and I served Him well.
I recognize that there won't always be socks laying under chairs, baseball caps scattered everywhere or three meals a day to plan. But these are the days I'm living in now and if I miss seeing them as they are: a gift from Him, then what am I saying about the Giver of good gifts?