On Sunday Mornings, at the end of our worship service, we receive the benediction. A blessing. I often hold out my hands in a posture of receptivity. If my fingers are not tightly cupped together, Bud will reach over and squeeze them together, whispering, "Don't let any of the blessing slip through!"
Yesterday, while Bud was picking out ukelele chords in class and Wombles was spinning wildly on some playground contraption, I stood talking with other mothers of young musician/playground reveler types. One of these women is due quite soon to add a fourth child to their family--and she was wishing aloud for just the right reply to those comments one tends to hear in public when one is pregnant with three children in two. Perhaps you don't know those comments. Perhaps you've made them. In any case, a common one is, "You sure have your hands full."
To this one I always responded, "Yes! Full of good things."
Well, I haven't been pregnant for nearly two years, and I yet I find myself using this phrase in modified form all of the time. Our days are full--"but full of good things!" My schedule is full--perhaps overflowing--"but full of good things!" And it is true. And I rejoice in the old and in the new: hosting our community group for weekly dinner and study; teaching Spanish; homeschooling; doing life with friends at our weekly supper swap; joining the liturgy team at church; and being mom to two public-school students this year, as well. These are all good things.
And yet other parts of life are falling through the cracks, literally slipping through the fingers of these hands that are overflowing.Thank-you notes written and never mailed, phone calls never made, conversations never enjoyed (or struggled through). Bills paid late. Car keys lost. And so, as good as good is, we know we need to make some changes. We won't have time for THAT conversation until mid-December; I'll let you know.
Another thing falling through the cracks is time to think, reflect, and consider. Hence this blog post, scrawled initially via spiral-bound notebook with a sharp Ticonderoga while I finish off Wednesday night's enchiladas. As it turns out, there are only 24 hours in a day; trying to squeeze out more by staying up late doesn't actually work (*news flash*). I just wake up tired. I recently explained to someone that if time were money, we would be living hand-to-mouth (but remember! So many good things). Upon closer inspection, however, I find I am frittering some away on the mental dietary equivalent of Tic-Tacs and peanut butter cups. Arguably tasty, but not healthy enough to warrant the expense.
I am not even going to go back and count metaphors in this post. What I mean is that as we get ready for Advent, I will be walking away from Facebook. And I will be checking e-mail much less frequently. I would love to be in touch, though...maybe we could talk on the phone. Or you could stop by!
When you do, I may be scraping crayon off of the table or folding laundry, practicing Italian or bribing my kids to please, PLEASE find my car keys...but I hope to be holding what good things I can carefully, fingers tightly together so as not to let any goodness drip through.
