John. Here.
Andrew. Here.
Marcy. Here.
Brenda. Here.
Linda. Present.
Bruce. Here.
This was a scene repeated so many times in my childhood in various school years that the names run together ... but the answer was always the same. Either "here" or "present".
There's a hint in that little scene. A reminder that in order to learn in life, we must be in the moment - we must be here.
Too many times I've gone round and round in the past. There's been no escape; it's like I was trapped there. I do believe that the past is useful to visit when it's done with the purpose of healing - or of reminding ourselves of the blessings we have known so as to encourage ourselves to keep believing, keep hoping. But living there, wallowing in our pasts, leaves us sad, bitter, estranged from or entangled within our roots. Either way, we cannot be present in the now. Our energy is all tied up in what has already happened, what might have happened if we (or others) had only done things differently. Emotionally and physically, we tire easily. So it was with me. I held deep resentments against those who had injured me, nursed each new wound and compounded it upon the old. I berated myself for not living up to my own expectations. It sapped my strength.
There've also been times when I feared the future: feared it so much that I would sleep poorly (if at all), fret and stew about things that might happen (most of which never did), and try to influence or manipulate the circumstances or the people involved in my own future so much that I would end up creating the very thing I feared. It robbed me of many moments I could have enjoyed. It stole away the present... so that I wasn't here for it. I was in tomorrow. Next week. Next month.
In the last 3 years I have been learning to exist in the here. In the present. In the now. The struggle is never-ending: it is difficult to accept what has been, what is. To not try to change what will be. When I do live in the now, though, the weight of the backpack of yesterday and the chains of tomorrow drops from me like Pilgrim's pack when he gets to the cross. I am freed to spend my energy in things that matter, right now. Enjoying the moment, now. Helping the person who is in front of me, now. Hearing the still, small whisper of the divine, now. Breathing the rarefied air in the presence of God, now. Worshiping Him, now. Not ten years ago. Not next Sunday. NOW.
If I carry anything with me into the new year, I wish for it to be this. That when I am called upon, that whenever and wherever God will speak to me and give me that inner nudge - I will be "present."
Andrew. Here.
Marcy. Here.
Brenda. Here.
Linda. Present.
Bruce. Here.
This was a scene repeated so many times in my childhood in various school years that the names run together ... but the answer was always the same. Either "here" or "present".
There's a hint in that little scene. A reminder that in order to learn in life, we must be in the moment - we must be here.
Too many times I've gone round and round in the past. There's been no escape; it's like I was trapped there. I do believe that the past is useful to visit when it's done with the purpose of healing - or of reminding ourselves of the blessings we have known so as to encourage ourselves to keep believing, keep hoping. But living there, wallowing in our pasts, leaves us sad, bitter, estranged from or entangled within our roots. Either way, we cannot be present in the now. Our energy is all tied up in what has already happened, what might have happened if we (or others) had only done things differently. Emotionally and physically, we tire easily. So it was with me. I held deep resentments against those who had injured me, nursed each new wound and compounded it upon the old. I berated myself for not living up to my own expectations. It sapped my strength.
There've also been times when I feared the future: feared it so much that I would sleep poorly (if at all), fret and stew about things that might happen (most of which never did), and try to influence or manipulate the circumstances or the people involved in my own future so much that I would end up creating the very thing I feared. It robbed me of many moments I could have enjoyed. It stole away the present... so that I wasn't here for it. I was in tomorrow. Next week. Next month.
If I carry anything with me into the new year, I wish for it to be this. That when I am called upon, that whenever and wherever God will speak to me and give me that inner nudge - I will be "present."
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