I scanned the past six months of posts on this blog, and observed a dichotomy that intrigues me. On any given day it seems that time creeps by. Even the biggest events, genuine milestones in my life, are filled with a creeping moment by moment sense that I am waiting impatiently to see if something important is going to happen. Occasionally, at a particular moment, I sense that something very important is actually happening, but that is rare. It is only in hindsight that the days of my life seemed filled with great happenings, significant progress, and elements of a compelling story.
The dichotomy is that between how mundane a given moment may seem and how dramatic those moments become when strung together into tales.
Tales of spiritual growth. Tales of sickness and tales of healing. Tales of relationships newly formed, then forged with the heat of circumstances and the relentless hammering of events.
Here I sit at 4 am in a silent house. I can hear the ticking of a clock. I gradually feel relief from the pain medication I took at 3:30. I struggle word by word to capture the dichotomy of the quietude nearing tedium of this moment contrasted with the rush of life changing events I have known in recent months and the oncoming rush of events ahead.
I am thankful for this tranquil island of now, in a storm tossed sea of what has been and what will be. It may even be a tiny glimpse of the eternal peace of a now spent in God's presence once the heavens and earth are made new and there is no more crying, no more pain, no more death.