If I’m to build something meaningful of my days, I must go into the plainest, most ordinary, boring days with open eyes. If I’m to build a whole beautiful life out of the smallest of moments, then the regular days count the most. And when I ask God what I really get for all my hard work, that is where the Teacher in Ecclesiastes hits me most with the truth. I can’t see the whole scope of God’s work in my life, but there he is, working in all seasons. I’m only responsible for showing up to today, because that’s what I’ve been given. And today is a lot more precious than I thought.
After I sit awhile at Jesus’ feet, among the cracker crumbs and dust bunnies and plastic ponies, I hear his voice. He whispers of his love for me, that he sees me. He reminds me that my work is not in vain and that I’m raising future world changers. He whispers that investing in life now, as boring and unsexy as it is, will reap benefits in the future. . .
All the years Daisy was sick I learned to lean into the hard stuff. I was right there. I knew how crucial that was to our survival and, besides, I didn’t want to miss a moment with her. But now that life is normal, now that the days seem to stretch on endlessly, it’s more of a challenge. The needs are more muddied, less obvious. The sweet times are frequent now, less of a contrast like during our hard years, so I tend not to notice them. But they are no less valuable, no less numbered. It’s a learning curve, these days. I’m learning I don’t want to miss out.