It’s funny to see them moving around, half-asleep and murmuring, because you so rarely get to during the week. They pull their clothes on and slump at the breakfast table and finally you talk to them enough that they realize the day is here and they start to come alive. Cereal or oatmeal or cinnamon rolls or waffles or whatever you want. Don’t forget to take your vitamins.
They seem so grown up as they walk away following a quick “love you” and a smile and a wave and a closed car door. These are truly little adults with backpacks that will become bigger backpacks and briefcases and diaper bags and who knows what else. They are doing life, just like you.
You need to run to the store. Actually it’s not a big deal but you really don’t have anything else to do. The feeling comes over you as you park the car that you’ve now landed on a new, unfamiliar planet. These are the lucky ones, the fortunate few. The people you pass as you move up and down the store aisles are not part of the great river of commuters every Monday through Friday. They don’t have desks at which they spend hours of every day. They don’t have conference calls or employee reviews. You envy them a little, and respect them a lot. And now you’re one of them, at least for the day.
Later in the day you go outside and sit on the wooden bench and the calm of the day is unexplainable. Noise exists out on the highways and in work zones and you can hear it if you listen hard enough, or if you listen in that way, but the quiet is what your heart wants and that’s what you get. You muffle the voice asking you what all you need to get done that day. You don’t want to think about that right now. You’ve decided to sit on that bench and watch that cloud as it travels from one end of the sky to the other, and that’s exactly what you do. You wonder if you should pray or maybe just thank God.
Aren’t you already doing that?
When a child sits with the Father, and He puts His arm around the child, and they just sit while clouds travel the length of the sky and finally out of view – it becomes hard to find the value of words.
My prayer is that God would slow time for me. The hands on the clock move the way they always have, but God can change how I exist in those moments, and that’s what I’m asking for. No more wishing for the weekend, hoping for a different kind of weather, or looking forward to payday. Give me right now and a wooden bench and a cloud to watch.
I ask it in the holy name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
(This is an excerpt from an upcoming book called Mile Markers)