Time for Nothing

Everybody needs a quiet place. This is mine.

I can't say how long it has been since my last visit. Very long. Too long.

It's funny how busy life can get. I don't know about anyone else, but I tend to get too busy for... this. For quiet. For rest.

I'd like to say my overly-busy tendencies are a result of extreme productiveness. Extreme achievement. Extreme importance. They're not.

The only thing they are is a result of is the delusion that I am above quiet. Above rest. That there simply isn't time.

Then, something happens.

Fatigue.

Not just "I'm tired today" fatigue. Everyday fatigue. I slept 10 hours and still fatigue, fatigue.

Then, I come here. And I watch for nothing to happen.

And nothing happens. Quiet. Peaceful. Nothing.

And somehow I know there is not a soul suffering for my lack of doing. Not a soul.

But there is a soul with benefits of rest. Of stop, just stop and wait for nothing to happen.

It is mine. My soul. My weary, conflicted soul. And I remember how good it is to sit and wait until the busy drains away and the quiet settles in.

Perfect Calling

Perfect is not like a butterfly,
That can be caught in a net
Pinned to a wall
Gazed upon.

It is not like sand on a beach,
Waiting to be stepped on
Piled up
Brushed off.

Perfect is not like a puzzle
With many complicated pieces,
Sort out
Fit together
Done.
Only to be taken apart and remade.

It is not a door to open.
A lid to put on.
A made bed.
Clean house.
Mowed lawn.
Balanced checkbook.
Finished work.

Perfect is none of these things.

Perfect is a breeze.
My hand cannot hold it
My arms not embrace
My eyes shall never see
Never see perfect.
Not here, anyway.

Why do I look here?

Funny thing is,
I already have perfect.
All I will ever need
All I should ever want
Complete.
Done for me.
For me.

And not the perfect I seek.
The elusive thief who steals my time
And slips away
Uncaught.

Perfect isn't caught,
It's a gift.

I already have perfect.
Better said, perfect has me.

And it is not in the things I can do
Accomplish
Build
Write.

Rather, perfect is a Someone.
He is Jesus.
Perfect.
He alone, perfect.
For me.

The question is,
Why do I look for perfect here?
Here, where it will not be found.

It is hard work.
Such hard and aching painful work.
Heart aching.
Never can have aching.

I sit and wait for my mind to catch up to truth.
Perfect is calling.
He is calling me.

In Between Yesterday and Tomorrow

I celebrate the Easter season. More accurately, I celebrate Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday.

And while Easter bunnies and chocolate eggs are fun. And treasures hidden for children to find are delightful, I think mainly about Jesus this weekend.

Yesterday I observed Good Friday. The day Jesus was nailed to a cross to suffer and die. The day Jesus took on the sins of the whole world. The day he paved a way for forgiveness. For peace between God and man. He suffered for me (and, by the way, for you).

Suffering for me.

Imagine.

I didn't ask him to. But he did it anyway. And it took me almost 30 years to come to understand how desperately I needed Good Friday. Desperately.

It has occurred to me that Good Friday wasn't just yesterday. It is every single yesterday. It is every single thing I have ever done or said or thought wrong… forgiven. Freely forgiven.

Tomorrow I observe Resurrection Sunday. The day Jesus rose from the grave. The day he took the victory over death that was promised for such a long time. But the waiting for the promise doesn't hold a candle to the future of that victory. The tomorrows.

He rose for me. The hope for tomorrow is the truth for today that Jesus is Risen!

Victory for me.

Imagine.

I don’t know how it happened. I only know it did. The day I believed the truth about Jesus… about the forgiveness and the victory… he put his Spirit into me and I knew. Without a doubt. It happens that way when we believe.

It has also occurred to me that Resurrection Sunday isn't just tomorrow. It is every single tomorrow. It is every single hope and dream and victory that belongs to me because I am a child of the King. Not a king, mind you. The King.

So today, in between Good Friday and Resurrection Sunday, I stand, as I will each and every day for the rest of my life on this earth, in the middle. I stand in the middle of forgiveness and victory. And I thank Jesus for the free gift he gave me, so long ago, before I was even born. Before I even know I needed it. Long before. 

Thank you, Jesus. 

Thank you.