Glory Now

I have this really unhelpful habit. My husband has pointed out to me several times, over the years, that I often look back on experiences or seasons of my life with a positive spin. Now, if you know me, you’re going to know that I’m NOT, EVER, under any circumstances, an optimist. I like to think of myself as a realist, but I’m honestly just pessimistic. It’s something that I’m working on, but my default mode, for better or worse, is to see the worst-case scenario as a more-than-likely possibility. So, it might seem out of character for me to view my past positively, even when it was really difficult at the time.

After my husband pointed this habit out to me, I started to pay attention to it and think about why I do this. I also started to pay attention to how I live each day, moment to moment. I don’t know if you’re like me or not, but I tend to have a difficult time living in the moment and enjoying each day for what it is. Allow me to explain.

I do not like babies. Thus, when my daughter was less than a year old, I didn’t have a great time. I was miserable, tired, and I had no idea what I was doing. There’s not anyone in my life that I can call at all hours of the night for advice or encouragement and I have a really difficult time with close friendships. I’ve felt alone for years and this season was even worse than many I’d experienced before: my worst-case scenario (having a child) came to fruition and I was, as ever, all alone to deal with it. I didn’t enjoy many of those days, but when I look back and reflect upon the first couple of years of my daughter’s life, I’m sad. I feel like I missed out on something, feel like I rushed or wished it all away, feel like there’s something I lost that I’ll never get back. 

When my daughter was very young, I desperately wanted her to be older and so I got through my days reminding myself that this wouldn’t last forever. She wouldn’t forever be attached to my body (literally- home girl REFUSED to take a bottle, so it was mama or nothing for the better part of a year). She would eventually learn to sleep through the night. She would eventually learn to communicate and stop screaming at me all of the time. She would, God willing and given time, grow up. 

You can shame me all you want, this was my experience and I did my best. I’m proud of myself for facing my worst nightmare and living to tell the tale. I’m grateful to God for teaching me so much in my least-desired circumstances. And I’m really grateful for the insight this season is giving me now. Namely, that I don’t enjoy the little things in my life nearly enough because, when I look back on this season, I’m not just sad that I missed out on some things, there are some things that I actually miss.

I miss cuddling with my girl when she would fall asleep in my arms. I miss being able to fix all her problems by nursing and rocking her. I miss how portable she was and how little equipment she required to go with me on campus. I miss how she didn’t used to talk back to me!

It would be really easy here, to put on those uncharacteristic rose-colored glasses and look back on that season as better than it was or better than the one that I’m in now, but it’s neither true nor helpful to do so. For better or for worse, I missed out on a lot in that season because I was so focused on the future. Again, that was probably a helpful coping skill, given my personality and circumstances, but the truth remains that I didn’t have to be nearly as miserable as I was during the first year of my daughter’s life.

And, this truth still applies today.

Last week, I told you a story about how I climbed a mountain with my dog, but, when I got to the top, it was shrouded in fog and I couldn’t see anything. It was a foggy summit with low visibility and high disappointment. I, however, saw the beauty all around me as I climbed the mountain. I told you about the salamander, wet spider webs, the quiet, and the strange beauty of the clouds as they whipped past me. I reveled in how utterly alone I was and that I knew, just beyond the veil of clouds, a spectacular vista waited. I knew that there was more to the foggy summit than water vapor.

But I could have missed it all. I could have been so focused on the view that I hoped awaited me at the top that I squashed the salamander, desecrated the spiders’ webs, ignored the quiet with headphones, and cursed the clouds and wind for ruining the view. I could have missed the glory of the present because I was so focused on a future that was not guaranteed. It was what I wanted and it wasn’t an unreasonable expectation, but it didn’t happen all the same.

I could have missed the glory of the present because I was so focused on a future that was not guaranteed.

I told you that I got through many early days of my daughter’s life because I knew that she would one day grow up and not be like that forever. But let me ask you a delicate question: what if she hadn’t grown up? What if tragedy visited our home and I no longer had a daughter? What if she never grew up and I never appreciated the glory of the present because I was so focused on a future that was not guaranteed?

What if I missed the gift of a few short months with her because I was so eager to get on with things?

The cost of my failure to appreciate the glory of the present has been high. I’ve spent most of my life in far more misery than was wise or warranted. This is not to diminish the pain or injustice I’ve been subject to. It’s to be honest about the fact that the world is shot right through with wonder and glory and everything magical, fantastic, miraculous or otherwise extraordinary and I (we) miss it because we can’t get past the pain that feels consuming.

We miss the beauty of a winter forest, seemingly dead, waiting patiently for spring because we’re tired of being cold. We don’t know the names of the birds who sing in our backyard each spring because we are so eager for summertime. We don’t take the time to marvel at the astonishing power of the sun, so many miles away, able to burn our skin because we can’t wait for the start of football season this September. And, oh, we miss the most glorious thing of all: the falling of the leaves and the giving of thanks so that we can hurry on to that bastion of western consumerism, The Holiday Season. I think, after years of thought and observation, that we actually do tend to slow down just a bit and enjoy this last one, but kettlebells and Valentine’s Day candy go up in the stores on December the 24th.

We can’t help ourselves: we can’t wait for the next thing and, thus, we miss the glory of the present. I’m the chief offender and, I hope, that you’ll allow me to invite you into a different way.

We all know it, but few of us live as if it’s true: we’re not guaranteed tomorrow. So much is out of our control. I’ve spent much of my life obsessed over how I could control or manipulate a situation to suit my own ends. I’ve spent days, even weeks and months, lamenting that the future I hoped for didn’t come to pass. I’ve wasted so much time whining about what I can’t control and what I don’t have and how long it’s all taking that I’ve missed the glory of the present. 

Spiritual growth isn’t linear. Thus, I’ve been better at enjoying the present in some seasons than in others, but I think, overall, I’ve gained a net positive in attention to each day as it passes. For years now, I’ve kept gratitude journals or made mental notes of little things that I enjoyed each day. But there are still days, in my busiest seasons, where I fail to notice anything but the clock and my to- do list. Those are my worst days. My best days? When I’m late to a meeting because I lingered over-long at the frozen water on the cliff outside Wildwood Park. When I don’t get the dishes done because I spent thirty minutes explaining God’s goodness to my daughter. When I fall asleep in the hammock under the apple tree in springtime and forget to start dinner, so we eat pizza instead.

My plans are not the most important thing in the universe. (Feel free to join me in adopting this as your personal mantra.) Plans are good, helpful, and important things if we are to be good stewards of the life God has given us, but they aren’t the most important thing. 

He’s speaking to you. God, the maker of all that is, the sustainer of your very heartbeat and breath, he is speaking to you in thousands of languages and little moments every. single. day.

Don’t miss the glory of the present because you’re focused on a future that’s not guaranteed. See him here. Hear him now. Know that he is God and that he means you good.