I had everything set for this week, the planner was decked out. I was ready to make things happen and get things done.
Lord, maybe I am not the maker of things?
Monday launched, and we soared through the lists, zipped fast through the errands, put all the things on all the shelves where they belong. We went to sleep, all folded and laid out for the next day.
Lord, thank you for days that feel complete.
The next day was beautiful. And the next. But the week did not get things done, these things I had planned. The minutes scattered away, completely ignoring the corrals I had set for them.
Lord, somewhere we lost steam.
The tasks matter, at least to me. And to the running of our tiny world. The tasks are not everything, but they are something. I never liked leaving blanks on a test, when I could get extra points for showing my work.
Lord, I confess that I grade myself a C+ for a question that is not even on the final.
The wise ones say, don’t worry about it. The kind ones say, you did the things that matter. The shiny ones say, pin this and make it happen.
Lord, I hear your voice say you know me. You smile and whisper: worry and doing and shining are the things that make you just you.
That is me. That is me with lists in hand and three new ideas. That is me stopping, listening, playing “I spy” and being interrupted by my loves. That is the me who is becoming. Tired but excited, challenged but focused, inadequate but so wonderfully full.
Lord, are you really saying, “you do you”?
The good news is it’s Friday. There is enough grace coming in the holy communion of Saturday’s waffles and the sacred mess of Sunday’s best efforts to cover anything I have missed.
Lord, may these moments ready us for a new week.
I am grateful for the moments. And honest enough to know that I will once again jot down one million ways to keep our schedule humming right along. Before I fly off into Monday with a caffienated flourish, let me hold Friday’s truth in my busy hands:
Becoming matters more than doing.
Grace fills all the blanks.
Lord, “take my moments and my days, let them flow in ceaseless praise.”
Also from Erin Robinson Hall
Deep waters, flames, and fears have come before. They will probably come again. But the narrative I want my child to have, and the narrative I hope to voice continually for myself and for my family is this: Fear doesn’t win. We are strong. And just in case we’re not brave enough, we will be brave for each other.