*My Response To Ann Voskamp's "One Thousand Gifts: A Dare To Live Fully Right Where You Are"
What I have today, NOW, is a gift. To be able to rise up this morning, my bones, 206 in all, holding me up, strong. To be able to read God's word, a 20-20 vision, and be silent and pray, while I sat on my bed, with the bonus of soft-fluffy pillows supporting my spine. No more pain. This is my gift. A gift of another day, breathing, alive, and well, birds chirping. "Thank You, Lord." The sun rose and made its way through my window. God is in full control. I am back to my routine of rising up everyday, of being, of doing.
Last week, it looked as though I was in a bad shape. I got so sick, the body, the shell, fell terribly ill, and I was confined to bed. But even that was a gift. The gift of being able to stop ( ! ) by default and slowing things down a bit. To be able to "Selah," as the Psalmist would say, and a lot of this in the Psalms, "stop and meditate." For I read somewhere that when we're running fast, we're missing the beautiful scenery. So, ONLY THE SLOW SEE. And by slowing down, by stepping on the breaks, we SEE. Beauty. Messy. Beautiful.
So, I make sense of the day in the life of a stay-at-home Mom. But I was never home, figuratively speaking. I have been running-wandering around; collecting, gathering, those tiny little pieces of myself, of being, of doing. Restless...
I run a school, home, with two growing kids in tow, a 7th grade, a 3rd grade. And the enmity, the bickering between these two opposite species have become commonplace to our daily grind, a rhythm. And I have grown accustomed to this. Strong-willed young people, that go to bed arguing over a tube of toothpaste that was wrongly squeezed right at the center. As to who gets the fried egg that's bigger-heavier by a few grams. Ah, the gift of argument. Even this is a gift. And the sanity of a Mom who puts up with it, and blog about it. The gift of sanity. The gift of blogging.
I have The Son for a dinosaur - and he breathes the breath of a dinosaur. He sleeps and dreams and chomps and dominates the Jurassic world.
And it is by slowing down that I can appreciate these gifts, of things mundane. And my kids have grown. Suddenly. Overnight? The Daughter, she goes out to the supermarket on her own on a public jeepney! And I still can't get over the fact that she has to go to church one hour ahead of me.
The Son, we had a lengthy conversation last night - it' s Jane for a girl and Noah Jr. for a boy. Names he's going to give his own children when he gets married! There was a lump in my throat as The Son spoke. And he already has a plan? Now, this is also a gift. The realization that my children, away from my hovering protection, have their own "person." And they will grow according to design, according to the purpose of our Sovereign God. And that I am just a steward, a carer. My children belonged to God.
A restless heart. There are a thousand things to be restless about... of being, of doing. I get caught in the whirlwind of things passing by. But there are also a thousand other reasons to celebrate life and just live the moment. Live the moment. By counting my own gifts. Literally. To take each moment as gift. And in doing so, I am drawn to the GIVER and not the gifts. Take it slow. Stop. So, you can see. The GIVER. Selah. Stop and meditate. Haven't we been repeatedly told by the Psalmist... Finding rest in halting, stopping. Finding God in the quiet, in the stillness. Only the slow SEE.
This is how I would count my gifts, for now. To focus my eyes on the GIVER and not the gifts.
And now, just a peak on my journal, my own "one thousand gifts" and still counting. Thank you, Ann Voskamp!
