I plan life in my
head.
The way I orchestrate things in my mind
goes according to logic, what is most efficient, how it flows
thematically, what gives the best return.
God's
ways are higher than my ways (to the relief of all).
What do we do when things do not go
according to plan? When our very best efforts and intentions yield
exactly nothing? Or when the compensation for all the thousands of
hours of labor doing the same faithful work tirelessly day after day
is an unseen investment?
The papers are scattered across the
table, detailing what we're worth, and it's a mess. We have a
folder of items to sort through that put numbers to our value. At the end of the day it's a sum of digits we can put in the
bank for a rainy day. But in the torrential downpour of
what-ifs and maybes we are soaking wet, right through
the shirts on our backs till the flesh shows through.
When trials hit hard—our worth is
laid out on the table and it's not much more than a mess—a person
gets desperate. And when people are desperate they suddenly need a
god. That's when the prayers of saints sound more like pleading
agreements that bargain for our side and make deals we could never
hold up. Our instinct is to pray. So we get down on our knees in
those old worn torn jeans, the ones with the hole on the right knee
that always needs mending. And we do.
What is really needed is to lay down arms and bare hearts, to stop accounting for the deficits,
because all that we really need to do is recount the
promises.
Bargaining agreements may get us to the
bank, but the solid
gold guarantee of this life
is found only in the Word of Life who
laid down his life as a promise that we
get eternal life at his return.
It is never about how much we invest or
what we yield up for our labors. It is always about the promises
that out
number the grains of sand, an everlasting seal of warranty that trades in
a busted up life boat for salvation's shores of glory.
We regroup and
pick up the pieces laid out on the table. We see that we have enough and we will not be left torn apart.
Then we go to a cafe and order breakfast.
We talk about what is important:
what we can count on and let go of and hold on to.
We don't scatter our energy talking about the future, because today is all we have.
Today is enough.
We can count on three fingers what can
be “counted on”. Three of us in this family that matter first and
most. Three scars on holy hands and feet. Three days in the grave
then raised to life.
We let go of bitterness that binds the
heart of yesterday. We let go of control over today. We let go of
fear about tomorrow.
We hold each other's hands on the good
days and hold each other close in the dark. We hold on to the
promise that the One who bares the scars will never
leave us nor forsake us. We hold on to the Word who is the
same yesterday, today, and for all our tomorrows.
These are promises we can take to the
bank.
