Not Time, But Light
Making for quiet, time to read, and the calling you have
The morning light, slumped low and golden, play upon my bedroom walls as I begin my day, and although I’ve been out of bed for hours at this point, it still arrests the rushing wind-up to get the laundry started, the breakfast eggs cracking, my two daughters (both with Down syndrome and nonverbal) dressed.
“Stop,” says the light on the wall, “Watch me dance”.
“I don’t have time,” I think, my hand to the door knob.
No, not time. But light.
Watching the shadows is, after all, in keeping with the Advent pace I had intended to plod: slow, thoughtful, observing, patient. I wanted to learn to be content with things undone (such as the never ending kitchen remodel), or with things as they were.
The “deciding upon” however can be a bit of a distance from the “putting on”, so I planned to plan The Plan (and you know what they say about the best laid plans) in which I didn’t have to choose between such impossibilities as light and time.
I started out, as I always do, with digging out from my desk a new (ish, you see, what with old papers ripped from the spiral and its spine bits picked out) notebook. I sharpened my yellow pencil. I set them by my chair, took a short video of the light play upon the walls, and walked through the door to my work.
And that’s as far as I ever got with planning at all.
Instead, I went for walks. And I took my goats into the woods for walks.
I watched my goats eat evergreen tips like foraging addicts.
I noticed a spunky chipmunk trying to roll an apple up a cedar tree, which after three or four runs up and rolls down gave up and decided to eat it upon the ground, right where it lay, ignoring my laughter.
I listened to and watched Canada geese fly overhead. And then a large raven, whose wings enthralled me with its whoosh whoosh whoosh overhead.
We also found the tree that in the most recent windstorm cracked a third of the way up and gave my son more firewood to chop (he’ll thank me later).
As I counted the rings (or tried to), I thought about how most of the trees towering above me were going to continue adding more and more rings long after I am gone.
I was glad I didn’t make any plans that needed my full attention this season, other than making sure the goats didn’t wander too far off. I wanted my meditations to shift from the circumstantial what is, and instead pay more attention to the person I could be in it all.
Which meant I had to stop listening to a whole lotta people who were using current events as a pitchfork to prod me either into a projected fear OR into a candied optimism, depending upon which team they were on and what the headlines that were feeding them offered for their poison. I felt like Soloman’s broken record: there is nothing new under the sun, there is nothing new under the sun…
But I guess he’s been saying that, himself, for thousands of years already, so who am I?
What is: an unfinished kitchen, which means dishware and loads of et cetera still lining the hallways, multiple paint cans awaiting upon the floors (and their brushes plastic wrapped in the refrigerator), an inability to decorate or otherwise do many of the traditional holiday activities. A household of children aged 8-23 and all of the range of personalities and wisdom/spiritual/hormonal development, all living together. An inability to steer anyone but myself. Some unfulfilled desires and expectations of what I had hoped 2025—or a woman in her mid 50’s—would have looked like.
What could be: repentance for my ingratitude, and instead shifting my thirst and hunger to the only One whose presence, faithfulness, and care can satisfy. Remembering the Lord is my shepherd, that I shall not want, that He (and only He) is the bread of life, to give thanks in everything, and be content with such things as I have. I decide to work on memorizing Psalm 63:3-7:
Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee.
Thus will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name.
My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips:
When I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches.
Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.
It’s a mercy He allows me to breathe another day.
I set the timer by my bedroom chair for twenty minutes, curl up underneath my pale blue mohair and wool blanket, and read.
It’s the only way I can get through a book: ignore picking up the third stray sock off the floor and march myself into a time out. No one is going to perish if I sit down and do something other than teach, wash, cook, or clean.
Interestingly enough, I can do this multiple times a day, which is why I most recently finished Karen Sparrow Prior’s You Have a Calling. To be fair, I bought this little book simply for the beautiful cover and title (yes, I’m one of those people) and had it propped up in my art journaling area. Of course I have a calling, I remember thinking, I’m doing it.
Or am I?
So curiosity, fed partly by Reader, Come Home, and partly by The Reading Rebellion, led to the timer, the chair, the attention, and many satisfying exhalations throughout this reading.
Perhaps what is most comforting is my consideration of the things I already do, and would continue to do, even without notice, appreciation, respect, or payment, because I’ve already done these things even before the seed was planted (by whom, let’s wonder) that any of those pleasures (such as notice, appreciation, respect, or payment) were necessary to me or offered any proof whatsoever for a life well lived.
Such as:
mothering
homemaking
reading and study
herbalism
writing
art journaling
keeping a home garden
weaving or other textile work
Having crossed the solstice, the light is of course slowly increasing. My goals for the upcoming year are more simple than any SMART acronym: to study more the lovingkindness of God, to loosen more the grip of self-focus, and to delight in the gifts and pleasures the Lord allows me to experience, for its own sakes.
May you find your delight this upcoming year in the God who is your light and your help, and rejoice in the opportunity to live another year to make Him known. May you know peace, and the effect of His righteousness in quietness and assurance forever.
