I wrote last week about having time to think.  Sweet, sweet time, how much I’ve taken you for granted.  After (yet another) melanoma scare last week that turned out to be benign freckles in my eyes (did you know you have freckles in your eyes?!), I was hit with a wave of emotional exhaustion that hung on me like a cloak.  I’ve prayed and prayed for peace of mind, peace of heart, faith that God has my back and wishes me well.  This morning I woke up to a small feeling of change.  Despite the back spasm, 12 hour day that lay before me, filthy house and empty fridge with company a-comin’…I felt like life had changed from a wave that has been crashing over me, to a small and gentle lapping at my feet.  Life has once again become a landscape I can view as opposed to a straight up hill in my face.

As I was digging through an old drawer this morning, I found a print I’ve long forgotten to frame from Michael Podesta, and as his prints always do, I was brought to tears.  Not just by the print, but by God, who took the time to let me know he was sitting right next to me and cared so deeply about me:

“If as Herod, we fill our lives with things, and again with things; if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action, when will we have time to make the long slow journey across the desert as did the Magi?  Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds?  Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary?  For each one of us there is a desert to travel, a star to discover, and a being within ourselves to bring to life.”

I felt so very thankful for being saved from a life of constant action.  A life that was little more than a perpetual movement machine with an occasional nap.  Life is still nonstop movement (or entropy depending on the day), but it’s filled with TIME.  Time with the girls that can never be taken away.  Time that will forever be written on our hearts.  I was thankful for a cheerleader God who whispers in my ear, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…”  He is always right next to me if I just slow down long enough to listen.