The days are long and the years are short. That’s what they say.
I just threatened my son again about taking his precious boots away. Because threatening is a great strategy with three-year-olds.
Meanwhile I’m thinking of measuring my daughter with a tiny ruler for her costume. That shouldn’t take long. Inches add up either way, right. Who can find a measuring tape in this house?
Those days of long stretch out the insides of you running circles around raising them right. Deep breath to deep sigh, you just want them to catch it. To be the very best they can be. We want it for them. We believe.
Then the discipline of Fall break day one is about to break you.
We measure our success by how many of their moments fit into the good behavior category. The outward signs of learning; each choice of obedience.
Lord knows all my moments don’t fit there. But I was driving today, somewhere in between our shopping, cleaning and making a mess of the church errands – when I saw the bigger picture. The longer stretch of days.
How I’m looking forward to the silver crown of life and the wisdom I will only gain by getting there. You can’t hurry a good stew or make a boy child a man. Like the yeast in the best of dough, some lessons just need to rise up in us over time. And they will.
I hear my three-year-old daughter praying over her own food in the next room, by herself, and I know something is catching. This comfort with talking to someone invisible, but all around. This faith is something taught from someone else, and the choice to act on it.
And I peer into the long years ahead to see the fruit of this messy labor. They believe.
Can all the moments of quiet grace overshadow the screams of loud when my boy acted out again – and I did too? Can all the hugs and kisses last into the years while the rolling of the eyes fades away.
I think so. I believe in the long stretches of God’s grace.
I think God wants to teach us something in the longer spaces of time.
He wants to do a long work in us. Something deeper than can’t be manufactured on the fastest product line. He’s drawing my kids….me…to walk with Him and learn a little. Become…………….over time……… with Him.
It’s what I’m carrying into my prayer life. This new kind of faith in forever. How the prayers we pray actually end up in the altar box and wait there. They keep. Even in the answering. Waiting for their highest fulfillment: the offering. When all will spill out before Him like incense and help mark the end of days.
Time doesn’t restrict our prayers, even when we try to. So every prayer counts. And though I keep looking, looking, looking for that hand-sized cloud and the drops of rain, I can rest knowing my prayers stick with God.
I focus on the answer or the wording of the prayer itself. But what if I looked farther into the distance of time…….where, regardless of the words or the outcome, the struggle or the confidence, each prayer is a deposit into everlasting praise.
Our prayers are measured with the yardstick of eternity. Holding steady.
On the longer days of motherhood and prayer, I’m thankful He measures with grace.
Hopping on the link-up with my bud, Meredith today. She’s writing on #31days of living like she’s dying – we all could use a dose of that. And I’m linking with Holly, someone born to be an encourager. Blessings.