Thursday in the Fifth Week of Lent
But I still my soul and make it quiet,
like a child upon its mother’s breast;
my soul is quieted within me. Psalm 131:3
My daughter steps from the car grabbing loaded backpack, sports bag, and tote with a change of clothes. Left on the seat are the music books for later in the afternoon. “Have a great day, I’ll pick you up after practice,” I throw out the door after her.
“Thanks, see you at five!” And I catch the gift in her words. Practice ends early today. An entire half hour. Today is one of those days with no wiggle room; from the moment we were propelled out the door every upcoming minute is designated. It is a familiar dance, one at which we are accomplished, and there is no reason we will not move swiftly and smoothly from one obligation to the next.
But an entire half hour not pledged. I consider the possibilities this bit of time opens. And as I linger in my contemplation of the expansiveness of time, I experience the gift in even half a minute. Time enough to still myself. Time enough to breathe. Time enough to allow the quiet to settle around me and within me. Time enough to lean into the lap of God.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2014
Image credit: inspirestock / 123RF Stock Photo
like a child upon its mother’s breast;
my soul is quieted within me. Psalm 131:3
My daughter steps from the car grabbing loaded backpack, sports bag, and tote with a change of clothes. Left on the seat are the music books for later in the afternoon. “Have a great day, I’ll pick you up after practice,” I throw out the door after her.
“Thanks, see you at five!” And I catch the gift in her words. Practice ends early today. An entire half hour. Today is one of those days with no wiggle room; from the moment we were propelled out the door every upcoming minute is designated. It is a familiar dance, one at which we are accomplished, and there is no reason we will not move swiftly and smoothly from one obligation to the next.
But an entire half hour not pledged. I consider the possibilities this bit of time opens. And as I linger in my contemplation of the expansiveness of time, I experience the gift in even half a minute. Time enough to still myself. Time enough to breathe. Time enough to allow the quiet to settle around me and within me. Time enough to lean into the lap of God.
copyright © Anne E. Kitch 2014
