Her hands were pressed tightly together and
she was aware of the energy between those two hands—
hands that worked hard,
hands that reached out,
hands that held those who were in the dark.
Tears started to flow—tears that she was surprised by.
After all, tears don’t change anything.
She concentrated on being still,
but then decided to not concentrate at all—
to just let time pass,
to ignore the ringing of the phone,
to forget all the work she still had to do,
to set aside the things of this world,
to simply be in the now.
We often “rest on our laurels”. Complacency is a lot easier than shaking things up. We decide to be content with where we are right now—even when it’s not what we really desire—and simply wait for the clock to run out. But, why?
How often do we think, “Please don’t interrupt my current, comfortable, often celebrated truth; I don’t need to know more, learn more, be aware more; I’m happy living out my life just the way I am?”
We hide away, patting ourselves on our backs for being as “evolved” as we are. We’re okay with having the final chapter written for us, while we simply coast through the rest of our lives.
I think we can do better. I think we can ask, “How are my actions impacting others?” I think we should ask, “Where is my soul in this journey?”
In my humanness, I am incredibly fallible. (I think we all are, even those who believe they’re perfect.) And, in my fallibility I make mistakes. Sometimes those mistakes are financially costly, and sometimes those mistakes are a lot more expensive—they’re the ones that have me questioning my choices, or trying to understand how to continue to have faith in someone who hurts me, or wondering why I’d go back to the same “dry well” (fully expecting it to be teeming with crystal clear water) again.
Back to The Now
This now—as I sit here and type away with hands so accustomed to touching these tiny keys that I don’t even stop to honor how fast my brain is processing; where I’m allowing my thoughts to become written words (thoughts becoming words….words creating energy)—is already gone.
In this now I am strong and resilient and I am hurt and broken. In this now I can forgive and be compassionate and I can hold onto pain and be sad.
And, in this now, I can try (once again) to not lose sight of what’s real because, at my core, I know that even when my brain is sad and my eyes weep, my spirit is not broken and I am loved—eternally and without reservation—by God.
This now is already gone. So, what will we choose to do with the next moment?