From everlasting to everlasting you are God.
~ Psalm 90: 2
Early this morning, I went with slow steps about setting the house to order. I like to do this kind of work early and quickly. But today, I was lumbering in my efforts. Outside the open door, a false spring ran her fingers over the wind chimes and billowed the flag. After several long minutes of resisting, I put on my mud shoes and a heavy coat and joined her.
I breathed deeply, drug an iron bench around the corner of the fence so that I faced east and the long, low curve of brown grass running to the edges of the woods and a purple sky bunching to the north. The birds were restless. I sat on the quiet like a girl buoyed on a current; I closed my eyes and could almost believe I was bobbing on a raft at sea.
What a waste of time, a voice rebuked me. Everyone in your family is at work; I bet they'd like to sit here in the sun and do nothing.
I stayed still and sank deeper, out of hearing of the accusing voice. I knew that these moments can be sought even at work.
And slowly the words rose like bubbles; a truth I had sensed below me in the depths.
All else will fail.
Euphoria. Mist. Every high, every addiction, every point of pride, every manner of self-improvement, every attempt to gain human approval, every single person or system you thought you could count on. . .will fail. In time.
The only answer is to seek outside of time. To look toward the everlasting.
Mary. . .sat at the Lord's feet and listened to his teaching. . .
[and Jesus said] ‘Mary has chosen the good portion.’
~ Luke 10:39,42
Mary was learning to number her days by orienting to the Everlasting.
Sitting at the feet of Him who is Everlasting.
Listening to His teaching.
When He showed up, she sat down.
So let us know and become personally acquainted with Him; let us press on to know and understand fully the [greatness of the] Lord [to honor, heed, and deeply cherish Him].
And He will come to us like the winter rains
~ Hosea 6:3 (AMP and NIV)
My time away comes to an end, I return to my work inside. Minutes later the skies release a deluge, thunder rumbles in the distance, and the dog barks to be let in. I open the door for the dog, silver beaded curtains hanging outside every glass.
“Just in time,” I murmur, acutely aware that I had just experienced a lesson on numbering our days. The iron bench where I had sat only moments before was barely visible beyond the barrier of water. If I had waited too long to stop work and walk outside, I would have missed the quiet moments of contemplation on the bench; If I had lingered too long on the bench, I would have been caught in the cold, winter rain.
I trust in you, O Lord;
I say, “You are my God.
My times are in your hand. . .”