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There is a part of me that tends to live in the future—to look forward to things that are going to somehow improve. While I am very good at making plans, I miss out on whatever it is I’m in the middle of. One of my goals for the new year is to simply live in the moment. Part of the reason for this is the fact that I’m suddenly aware that my children are growing up very quickly, and I want to enjoy them while they are here. I want to be where I am, and notice the gifts that are right in front of me, right now. When I remember to do this, it’s funny, but I actually enjoy my life, my work, my friends and family, much more. My friends Dawn and Greg sent a great card this month with this quote from Frederick Beuchner (one of my favorite writers) on the front: Listen to your life See if for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell you way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace. Inside, they admitted that they were sending a January card since they’d missed sending out Christmas cards. But Greg wrote “I have come to believe that maybe it is the ordinary days that are to be remembered and cherished. The ordinary days that form the foundation of our lives, that forge our character and make up the story that is our life.” Especially in
winter, life feels very ordinary—even boring. But hidden in the
daily-ness of life is mystery, holiness. If we can begin to see, as
Beuchner points out, that “life itself is grace”—then ordinary
becomes extraordinary. When we went to bed last Thursday night, it had already snowed about six inches. Friday morning, the snow was still falling, school was closed. My hubby and kids shoveled our driveway, then helped various neighbors shovel theirs. Later in the day, I got this glimpse of how grown up the kids are getting: I was working. Rather than telling me, “I’m hungry,” and expecting me to do something about it, my daughter calmly pulled out a frozen pizza, stuck in the oven, and fed herself, her brother and a friend who was over. I stayed on the computer the whole time, working. Appreciating my kids’ self-sufficiency. Later, my friend Jo picked up my 11-year-old son and his friend, and they went sledding with her four boys at the neighborhood sledding hill, which is in the backyard of the elementary school. Later, I drove over to see what they were doing. I still had my fleecy pajama pants (the thick ones from Old Navy) on, along with my parka and boots. Jo and I took a break from standing on the hill and sat in her car, talking. We’ve been friends since we took a Mom and Tot class through the park district, when our oldest children, both girls, were two. They are now on the verge of 14. We talked about the fact that in the fall, they will be starting high school. We asked each other how much freedom was too much to give our teenage girls. Neither of us had answers. “We’ve got four years, Keri,” Jo said. “Four years. It’s going to fly.” Yeah, it is. Which makes me all the more determined to focus on the moment, to live my life, rather than just try to manage it. And to be grateful for the friends that are living it alongside me. A few weeks ago, I had attended parent orientation at the high school—an absolutely overwhelming experience that I wrote about on my blog. And as much as I’m overwhelmed by the idea of my little girl going to high school, I felt blessed. Not just because we live in a good school district, but because we live in a neighborhood that is amazingly stable, and amazingly connected. The vast majority of the kids who were in Melanie’s kindergarten class will be going to high school with her in the fall. Five of those kids live within a block of us. And I know their families. Even Jo and her husband, who moved a few miles away into a different school district, remain an essential part of my world. We are continuing to raise our kids together—my son spends a good chunk of every weekend playing at her house, enjoying being a part of the tribe of her four boys. And that was the most orienting thing about orientation night—knowing that the parents who’ve been beside me at soccer games, driven my kids in carpools, suffered through PTA meetings and grade school field trips with me—those friends will also be here as we journey these next four years, as our teenagers grow and get ready to leave the nest of not just our homes, but our community. My prayer is that we’ll all continue to help each other raise our kids—to watch out for them, to love them, to encourage each other as we face frustrations and challenges that are an inevitable part of parenting, especially parenting teenagers. And by caring for the kids, we’ll take care of each other, as we have for the last fourteen years. On snow days, you can’t really make plans—because you really don’t want to drive very far, you don’t really know how the day will unfold. They are days that make you slow down and notice the beauty, not just in the trees in the backyard, but the beauty of friendships, of your children, of the moments you get to spend.
Cold Tangerines Shauna is an incredible writer. She’s like Anne Lamott without the cussing. Her writing is well-crafted, beautiful, sometimes funny, always searingly honest. Cold Tangerines is a collection of essays, loosely tied together around the theme of celebration. Except that sometimes her stories celebrate difficult and sad things. It’s a memoir, of sorts, because the essays are really just scenes from the life of a young woman who offers more questions than answers, yet still comes across as wise beyond her years. Here’s an excerpt. And yeah, the whole book is this good, or better. You can also read a chapter on her website, www.shaunaniequist.com. “John Lennon once said, ‘Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.’ For me, life is what was happening while I was busy waiting for my big moment. I was ready for it and believed that the rest of my life would fade into the background, and my big moment would carry me through life like a lifeboat. The Big Moment, unfortunately, is an urban myth. Some people have them, in a sense, when they win the Heisman or become the next American Idol. But even that football player or singer is living a life made up of more than that one moment. Life is a collection of a million, billion moments, tiny little moments and choices, like a handful of luminous, glowing pearls. And strung together, built upon one another, they make a life, a person. It takes so much time, and so much work, and those beads and moments are so small, and so much less fabulous and dramatic than the movies. “But this is what I’m finding, in glimpses and flashes: this is it. This is it, in the best possible way. That thing I’m waiting for, that adventure, that movie-score-worthy experience unfolding gracefully. This is it. Normal, daily life ticking by on our streets and sidewalks, in our houses and apartments, in our beds and at our dinner tables, in our dreams and prayers and fights and secrets—this pedestrian life is the most precious thing any of us will ever experience.” For reviews of the latest books in Christian Publishing visit www.bookbargainsandpreviews.com
What do you need to do to focus on the moment, rather than worrying about the past or the future? Today, be on the lookout for something to celebrate—even something ordinary. Deliberately choose joy. Look for God in the story of your day. Speaking
If you are interested in having Keri speak at an event or retreat, you can go to www.keriwyattkent.com and click on the link to speaking. Keri is currently accepting speaking engagements for November 2008 and beyond.
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February 2008
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This has been an
exceptionally snowy winter in Chicago, and every storm, I go out and
shoot some photos (you can scroll through
