Yesterday was a very interesting day. In the span of 24 hours, I:
- Spent time with young couples, pondering what solitude means
- had the priviledge of participating in the baptism of a little Korean 1-year old adopted by an amazingly loving family
- laughed with friends
- barbecued hamburgers for about 15 guests
- got elbowed in the eye by my daughter playing the pool (and have the shiner to show for it)
- played with babies in the water
- had to negotiate with a somewhat difficult teenage daughter
- stood at the bedside of my mom, whose health continues to deteriorate.
When I think back on it all, it's really hard to believe that my life is this full, this varied. And here is something interesting, as well. In all these things, the sprinkling of water, the cooking of food, the laughing, the grieving, Christ is present. It may not always feel like it, but He is there, if we will stop, and wait, and look.
He is in the eyes of the dying, the touch of water on the head of the child who has come half-way around the world to find a new life, in the smile and laugh of a new friend. In the joy of young friends turning circles in the pool and yelling "Maaarco......Polo!", and in the eyes of my Mom, tired and weary from life's journey.
He is there. Christ is here. I find it interesting that Jesus did not tell us. "The Kingdom of God is coming, just wait." Nope. He told us that the Kingdom is near, at hand. And so, it is.
Mom is back in the hospital; we will need to find her a different place to live now, perhaps some form of skilled nursing environment.
Our friends had a blast in the pool. My black eye looks cool. The babies went home, and had naps.
And, at the end of the day, for me, a gift. As I headed upstairs to bed around midnight, I stopped by the rooms of our girls. Two sleeping faces, completely at peace. Faces I have know so well, and loved, and wept for, and laughed with, and enjoyed now for a good many years. Both gifts. Both who do not belong to me. They belong to God.
File under: Parental Musing, Thankfulness