This morning there are a million things to do. Sticky things, like planning for a major trip–tickets, insurance, money, lists–the wrapping up of another school year, tests, did I do that yet? and what if I forget? I have that sense that if I am not careful, the world outside my windows will start to streak by in a blur, and I will miss it all.
I am too busy to slow down, too wrapped up in things important to notice things small. Laundry, bills, appointments, meetings. Who has time to savor? Who has time to sing?
If I am not careful now, I will lose this moment. I will not get it back.
If I am not careful, sticky things will pull me down in their sticky web of worry, bustle, fear.
“I am too busy,” said Martin Luther, “not to pray.” When my thoughts clamor too loud for stillness, I can at least remember.
Maybe you feel this way, too, rushed and weary. Maybe you don’t have eyes to see the last of the cherry blossoms and marvel at their maker, but you can close your eyes at a stoplight and remember that time on vacation when creation took your breath away. Maybe you don’t have time to dink out a melody on the piano this morning, but you can turn on the radio and remember a song that stopped you in your tracks.
I remember this morning my New Years’ Resolutions, from the end of Psalm 90:
- Teach me to number my days aright, that I may gain a heart of wisdom.
- Teach me to number my days, that I may long for your return.
- Teach me to be satisfied, morning by morning, with your unfailing love.
- Teach me to rejoice and be glad, all my days, that all my days will be joyful and not stressed..
- Teach me to see your weighty glory, every day, (even the busy ones.)
- Let the favor (and the beauty) of the Lord be upon me, and establish the work of our hands. Yes, establish the work of our hands!
One day last year, I dropped my friend off at her house in the city, and just as we pulled up, a deer leapt over her chain link fence to nosh on the grass in her backyard. Where did this visitor come from? Here in the city, cars whizzing by, the creature paused and regarded us with dark eyes, as if to say, “Here I am, under your nose. Have you not seen me all along?”
Today in the busyness, I want to slow just enough to see that God is quietly working wonders all around me. That while I worry about my lists and my laundry, He feeds the sparrow, clothes the crabapple tree. I can choose to be overwhelmed, or I can remember–God’s got this.
Be still, soul, and know that He is God.
Catherine's Letters 