There are days when I wish for adventure, for far away places and people I’ve yet to meet, times when I long to be anywhere but here and now: a different person in a different body in a different town. But then there are times I crave the comfort of what’s known to me, when I can embrace who I am in the now.
I love re-reading books after a year or two, that feeling of foreseeing the ending but not remembering each twist and turn along the way. And I love the feeling of straightening up the house after a long day. The respite of clean counters and put away toys, of the quiet of two sleeping children and a husband away at work. These are the times when I crave what’s right in front of me: stained carpet, worn furniture, hot tea and a good book. These are the times when what I have feels painfully extravagant and when my heart feels full to the point of bursting.
These moments of presence are holy. They carry with them a wistfulness that comes in knowing I’ll someday look back on this very moment and smile at how hard but good it all was.
I’ve heard that at the end of our lives we don’t necessarily long for the brave moments or the scary things we did that took us far. I’ve heard we want to relive the quiet moments, like playing in the yard with our kids, feeling warm sunshine and eagerly counting down the minutes until dad comes home from work.
It is here in the present that I can exhale. The problems waiting for me tomorrow are held at bay. The regrets of the past have settled down and I am free to want this very moment, this very place.
I am not a very present person, but I’m realizing it’s value. The present has become to me a placeholder for peace. I cannot control tomorrow, nor can I change the past, but in this time, I can be alive to the Spirit, an obedient and listening child.
And the Spirit says, “Stay here a while.”