looking through me

Category: Uncategorized

counting to 10,000

I carried a slim, black notebook around for a year. It went everywhere: work, church, dinners out, small group, Israel, the car wash, hospitals, memorial services, holidays, the gas station.

It was nothing fancy. A nondescript, 5″ x 8.75″ ruled notebook with the lyrics of a song taped inside the front cover and a picture of my grandparents tucked inside the back cover. After a year in my purse it was a little worn, but it was at the ready.[1]

On July 29, 2013 I entered my first few numbers on a list. One year later there were 2,175 ways I’d seen God in 365 days. A good start on my personalized list of 10,000 reasons my heart can sing of God’s goodness.[2]

And it has changed—and is changing—my life. I slow down and notice the abundance of good in days I would otherwise have written off as inconsequential. As I sit by hospital beds or cuddle newborns, I see God’s hand in the hard goodbyes and the joyful welcomes. I see Him in the sunset and feel Him in the hugs of friends. I hear Him in the quiet. I taste Him in shared meals and salty ocean air.

Though I don’t reread much of what I’ve written, there is power in keeping a record. When I start to forget how I have been tangibly loved by God and His people, I can flip through the pages and be reminded. I have learned and grown—sometimes in leanings and sometimes in great leaps. He is not leaving me where I was. I have proof.

I tire from repetition. Unless I shake up daily spiritual disciplines, they slink right out of my routine. I’m not a good journal-er unless I’m traveling. But every day of the first year is in this notebook.[3] Even though I was occasionally a week behind staring at a calendar and thinking hard about which day I got the email or felt the breeze or realized there’s a connection between surrender and transformation.

Because it matters.

It matters that God is active and present— I spent days upon years looking past Him—and I can’t afford to keep missing Him. When I can see Him in the small moments, I understand nothing He has made is trivial. And He made it all.

So today I launch into a third year of gratitude as I dust for God’s fingerprints on each day, chronicling them as I go.

 


[1] The first notebook began to disintegrate, but its contents were transferred to a more durable second notebook.

[2] The song lyrics taped in the notebook (and the inspiration to start this list of 10,000) are Jonas Myrin and Matt Redman’s “10,000 Reasons (Bless the Lord)”

[3] The second year included an eight-month break in my consistency, though I am back on track now and through 7/28/2017 I have 2824 entries on my list.

 

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.


Follow on Bloglovin’

ready or not

I watch the preschool set darting around the playground. I can’t hear them from inside my office a hundred yards away, but I can sense their unfettered joy. A summer morning at the park with a dozen other children—bliss.

They race up the steps, down the slide, on to the swings, off the swings, across the bridge. Constant motion. Full-body exertion. So much energy. So little thought to the future.

I’m a few decades ahead of them. In life and in thought. But I spend a lot of time at a retirement home where my thoughts get pulled farther and farther ahead. I witness the aging process, and I wonder what my role is. How do I accompany those ahead of me in the process? How can I infuse their diminishing realm with honor and dignity and purpose? How do I learn from them and apply the lessons I’m learning in my relative youth both to live well in the present and in preparation for the decades ahead?

The future weighs on me. The generation two above me—the one I visit in skilled nursing—deserves more than a waiting game. The generation above me—the one I will someday be responsible for tending to—is older than I want to admit. And my generation . . . who will care for us? Who will visit me and smuggle treats to me and ask to hear my stories? Who will monitor my medications? Who will tell me I’m not a burden? Who will sit beside me and hold my hand and understand that the minutes stretching by for the longest half hour of their day are racing by as the fastest half hour of mine?

Tentative, deliberate motion on the playground catches my eye. I watch a mom teach her little one how to go down the slide alone. And the voice in my head screams, “I’m not ready!”

I’m not ready to climb another rung on the ladder of generations. I’m not ready to slide alone.

But ready or not . . . here I come.

 

Follow on Bloglovin’

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.