To be honest, I have spent a great deal of my life doing it. I know I'm not alone in this - it seems to be part of the human condition to look forward, to long for something else, or something more, to worry about what is to come, or to simply wonder (in anxiety or joyful anticipation) about the future.
And when I do that here, these days, I can start to feel overwhelmed, buried. These things we're living with - the quirks of being a multi-generational family and Alzheimer's and I know what that looks like today but what in the world will it look like in 2 weeks or 2 months or maybe even 2 years - they can pummel me like an ocean wave (Goleta tar and seaweed and all) until I'm left gasping, spitting out salty water and rubbing sandy eyes, straining desperately to discover which way is up.
Yesterday, God spoke a quiet word to me. "Today." Be here today. Just be here now. Don't worry about tomorrow, and by the way, My grace is sufficient for you.
What a tragedy it would be to let the fog of my worries about tomorrow obscure the beauty of today.
And so I breathed in and out and looked around me. Here is what I found:
Muddy fingers and dirt-smeared cheeks.
A beloved blonde head glinting in the sunlight.
Twin sisters running through golden leaves, hair streaming behind them and strong legs racing.
A profile I love, freckled nose and little round chin.
An old man's smile, and his wife's laugh.
Food in the oven, and then on the table.
Eyes that behold me with love and honor.
A strong hand giving my own one last squeeze before I close my eyes and sleep. In peace.
Here is where my life is, right here, right now. God, in Your mercy, don't let me miss it.
