Promises: Time


I’ve got rainbows all over my walls.  Nana bought Rae a crystal to hang in the window so she could see rainbows, and from 11am to 2pm every day it looks like a color spectrum exploded in the living room.  At first it was distracting.  Today, the irony hit me like a, well…like an exploding spectrum…

Promises.  They’re promises.

“You have time” is what that little colorful flicker on the giant, black and white clock whispers to me.  For so long I lived my life accomplishing things because I feared death, not because I actually wanted to do those things.  I gardened because I wanted my children to have memories of a pretty yard and a mama who cared enough to make it pretty.  I gardened because I wanted to give them nutritious food from my hands because Lord knows what would happen to their diets once I wasn’t there to balance it all.  They’ll already have so much to fight against (with a dead mom and all), so a solid nutritional start is the least I can do.  I kept journals of all of their quirks, likes, dislikes, joys, sorrows.  Not so that they would be able to look back on their youth and feel more connected to their little selves, but so that if I died David’s new wife, or any caretaker they encountered, could read them and know what made each of them tick.  A cheat sheet, so to speak.  How heartbreaking…  But I’m not dying, at least not today.  Today I am alive, and so are you!  Today I have time to pull a weed because it calms me, or plant a seed because it excites me, or harvest a flower because it inspires me.  Today I write down the things that make my kids special BECAUSE THEY ARE SPECIAL.  And I want them to know that.  Today I only need to accomplish the next loving act, one act at a time.  And thank God I will always have the time, capability, and effectiveness to do that.  Thank You for all the promise of today, and tomorrow, and all the days.

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1 Comment

  1. I love you Clairey. What a beautiful description of the eternity in each moment we live. There REALLY is NO rush. Your gracious, gentle & slightly shakey, surrender (bookended by moments of utter paralyzingly fear) is palpable. I hear you narrate the human condition of not controlling what comes next while putting our whole hearts into trying to make “what happens next” the very best thing. Then you surrender and trust God. Oh the pain involved in order to go rest high on that mountain!! You’ve written a story of peace. Keep writing. You make me cry for you because I want to spare you every bit of pain & fear, but I can’t, for through that you’re being made in His image. Love Always, Mama

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