There are only so many full orbits around the sun, and who makes time to lie in bed and listen to rain thrumming on roofs or to take someone for strawberry ice cream sundaes and linger down at the bridge, the river running underneath like the present running through your hands?
And there are glads to be picked from the earth and there is time yet to live in the givenness of everything.
Your time is limited— so don’t limit your life by wanting someone else’s.
Sometimes I stand in the living room after they’re all in bed and listen to that clock tick slowly.
Sometimes the ticking of the clock is like Morse code, tapping it out again and again:
You have only one decision every day: how will you use your time?
Sometimes the best use of your time is to stand and listen to a clock. We’re all terminal— and we all just want a number. What size is this bucket of time? How many days do I actually get?
The hands of the clock are bound by the decisions of our hands. And He has made our hands free to be His.
I don’ t even know who has the audacious idea to go up to the dollar store and leave dollars up and down every aisle, but our kids watch unsuspecting kids wander in. Smiles break up every aisle.
This boy in a ball cap stops at the counter and picks up a lollipop we’ve taped a note to: “Here’s a dollar. Pick any color. We’re Giving It Forward Today. #betheGIFT.” His face explodes in this smile, and bits of joy lodge in the brokenness of me, and I feel a bit remade.Smiling at anyone is to awe at the face of God.
And “the beauty of the world is Christ’s tender smile coming to us through matter” (Simone Weil). There’s a clerk grinning at the till. The guy stocking shelves is chuckling.
There are people Giving It Forward Today, and don’t think that every gift of grace, every act of kindness, isn’t a quake in a heart that moves another heart to give, that moves another heart to give, that grows into an avalanche of grace.
Don’t say this isn’t what a brokenhearted world desperately needs; don’t say it isn’t how to change a broken world.What if the truth really is that every tremor of kindness here erupts in a miracle elsewhere in the world?
I can feel it like the slightest sense of a suturing along raw and ragged scar lines.
Maybe our suffering and brokenness begin a kind of healing when we enter into the suffering and brokenness of the world, right through the brokenness and givenness of Christ.
Maybe there’s no such thing as a small act of giving.
Every small gift of grace creates a love quake that has no logical end.
It will go to the ends of the earth and change the world, and then it will break through time and run on into eternity.
I would read later that those who perform five acts of giving over six weeks are happier than those who don’t, that when you give, you get reduced stress hormone levels, lowered blood pressure, and increased endorphins, and that acts of kindness reduce anxiety and strengthen the immune system.
Five random acts of kindness in a week can increase happiness for up to three months later. “He gives by cartloads to those who give by bushels,” wrote Spurgeon.
Maybe if all you have to give are handfuls, He might make a broken heart full?
The world kinda echoes with it: