I noticed it first in the Spring. Something in my heart had changed. Instead of my obsession with to-do lists, pushing through events just to call them done, filling up my planner for the joy of calling myself busy, of feeling useful, feeling like my days mattered, there was a profound switch in the reality of my days. For reasons that I can only speculate, I found myself anxious to avoid shallow experiences, to invest myself in only what I thought was genuinely important. I was no longer filling my journal of a list of things that I had accomplished; instead, I found myself exploring the depths of my days, traveling through each moment, making sure that, without a doubt, that moment belonged to me. That moment, and every moment.
By Spring, I had shared enough of moments. I had shared months and months with a dark and oppressive anxiety; I'd shared them with insecurity. I'd shared them with comparisons and self-doubt, I'd shared them with striving. I'd shared them with so many things, except that I hadn't shared them with myself. At least not with the me that I wanted to be, the me that Jesus says I am.
I came to the heartbreaking realization that I was pushing through my days, anxious to get to their end and receive my "well done," when life is, in fact, meant to be enjoyed. Moment by moment, life is profound. Life, and every moment inside of it, deserves my full attention and all of my affection. My moments should belong to the Light, belong to my heart. My moments should dwell within the realm of joy and of creativity, of excitement and peace.
Maybe that was the best day of my life.
But even I disagree with that statement.
Maybe the best day of my life isn't really one day at all. Maybe it is a collection of my moments. Twenty-four hours worth of mysterious, consecrated, life-altering, belly-laugh inducing, heart-wrenching moments.
Maybe the best day of my life was the first day that I stepped out of my apartment with peace of mind and a quiet heart. Maybe it was the day that I sat outside on a blanket and read in the sunshine for hours, or when I realized the depths of my sin, my desperation for Jesus. It could have been the day that my heart broke over the beauty of ten Jamaican special education kids, or the day we celebrated my grandpa's eighty years of life with tango. Perhaps it was the day that I welcomed new freshman into their place at USD, or it was the day I cuddled up in my bed and slept for thirteen hours.
Maybe the best day of my life will come in the future, when I graduate from college, when I fall in love, when I start a family; maybe it will come tomorrow when I have a conversation with a friend, when I go to work, when I finish my book.
I have yet to experience one day without some engaging or sacred moment, one moment where I could not say, "this is the best day of my life."
1 comment:
this is really good!
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