Thursday, September 6, 2012
A Glass Half-full
I have always been a girl who sees the glass half-full - a dreamer, spinning hope and happiness. I'm older now, and life has knocked hard causing some of the precious liquid to spill from the glass. For long seasons I hold steady, but inevitably they come - those days when it is hard not to focus on the empty part.
I wake and before I can take a deep breath the fog rolls in, blotting out even the tiniest ray of sunlight. "I cannot do this for another day," I whisper to Him. I'm not even sure what the "this" is. It is a nebulous compilation of the dull repetition of daily life, the doctor appointments I am weary to death of, a debilitating feeling of mediocrity, a fear that I will one day stand before a pile of wood, hay and stubble that has turned to ashes.
I carry the folding chair out onto the front porch, along with my Bible and Bible study book. A breeze causes the branches of the oaks to dance in the sunlight. A hummingbird soars in for a drink. I bow my head and am overwhelmed by a palpable sense of His presence in this quiet place.The tears come.
He gently reminds me of words I copied into a notebook only days ago:
"It is not what a man does that determines whether his work is sacred or secular, it is why he does it. The motive is everything.
Let a man sanctify the Lord God in his heart and he can thereafter do no common act... For such a man, living itself will be sacramental and the whole world a sanctuary."
I close my eyes, acknowledging truth - truth He has been gently pressing into my heart. Those seasons, when the glass tilts alarmingly in the wrong direction, come when self looms large. It is self who cries out for approval, for a day with dreams and desires fulfilled, for significance in the things I do. The "why" is me when it ought to be Him.
He is forever doing things in ways that seem backward to my needy self. The mystery is - the "backward" is the very thing I've been longing for. When I give everything back to Him, even when my heart says, "I don't want to..." or "I want..." the glass steadies. He takes the mundane and converts it into heavenly. He takes the small and lifts it up - in His way, in His time. He replaces fear with incomprehensible peace. He counts every small act done with a heart toward Him as gold.
He offers a glass filled to overflowing and says, "Come drink."
Linking to Emily's imperfect prose today.
picture from my sweet friend Patricia