Time Flies

Friday I sat in my living room floor and played with the Little People Thanksgiving set with Lydia.  The windows were open and the crisp autumn air flowed in - there are no screens on our windows but I just can't live shut in - I have to let in the changing season - embrace and breath deep.  I mean, I would like to live in a controlled environment without risk of the little one throwing her toys out the window, insulated from dirt and dust and blowing leaves but I just can't bring myself to shut it.  Let in the light, let in the breeze, let the outside craziness flow in...spiders and all...it's messy but so refreshing. 

 That third child - She's growing so quickly - too fast - I've said it with all of them - and as I often do I found myself wanting to pause time...Wanting to savor, to soak, to marinate in the time...to study each minute like a Van Gogh with it's toothpaste thick paint and rich colors. 

 I've often had that thought lately, just wanting to sit and drink a cup of coffee rather than chug the last cold swallow as I circle the parking deck to park before work - wanting to sit and think about where to put the board games so that we'll be able to play a quick game when time is running short - wanting to sit and smile at three redheads playing in the leaves and fading light singing some made up song and plotting hiding places for the new weapons fashioned out of sticks - wanting to reread the Word that brings life and savor the Truth that brings joy.  Wanting to pull hard on the reigns of time or add thickener to make it stick rather than run so quickly through my fingers...like Pooh Bear with his honey.

 There is laundry the size of Lookout Mountain upstairs, there are 10 gazillion billion boxes (as Lucy numbers things) in my garage, there are things to plan and organize and clean but I sit delighting in my one year old dance and talk to the those Little People in her own tongue. 

 And as I do a bird flies into the kitchen and lands on the cabinet and the fridge.  I sit and wonder at this fragile, wild creature so out of place in my kitchen...an unexpected visitor...a reminder that trying to be safe from all risk - can keep out an unexpected blessing.  I can't help but stare.  The third child can't either.  We sit, we watch.  Finally, I stand to open the door and let the wild blessing slip out.  And he does, quietly and without commotion.  I think about the Author and Sustainer of all life - the One who holds all things together even in this wild, fragile world...and I am grateful, joyful at this reminder of His presence.

 I know my children will one day come and go as quickly as that bird...it will do no good to try and control time, no good to wish it slowed  - but - by CHOOSING to be thankful for the moments I have (even the moments of piles of dirty dishes and laundry and aggravating screaming and angry words and laughter and wonder and joy) - allows me to savor them.  What happens in these walls matters, what I let in and what I nurture here matters so that one day when I open that door and out they go...they will be full and grown and wise in what truly matters in life.

 I'm grateful for that open window - for that refreshment - for that little bird.  I remember that I am cared for by One who is bigger than time...even as my time speeds by one tick-tock at a time.