“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”
-Henry David Thoreau
There are times in life when every word I read seems to be a message from Heaven hammering home a single point. The last two weeks or so have been one of those times. At first, it was just a hint here or there, whispering “joy in the moment.” But although I recognized the squirm in my belly, indicating that this message was looking for a home, I was too busy focused on my family, which looked more or less like this, to pay attention:
Since Christmas, it’s been nothing but sickness and interrupted nights and snow days, and the associated hits to my productivity. I have been gripey and complaining in increasing negativity, in defiance of Heavenly messages. So God upped the ante, until every blog post and news story and every word out of my husband’s mouth pounded at the message of celebrating the moment and the need to stop worshiping at the altar of productivity. And then, I went through the last six months’ pictures, sending $40 of developing to Target in preparation for a new round of scrapbooking, and I realized: Holy cow. Look at those moments! I had forgotten. My life is made of joy.
Living in the moment. Celebration, a blogger said, is how we live in the present. Me, I live in a world of multitasking, the antithesis of living in the moment. My brain is always skipping ahead, wrestling with writing issues, or wallowing in past experiences, comforting myself through the painful slowness of my goals with the thought that someday, the kids’ll all be in school and I’ll be able, like Thoreau, to go to the woods. I can hear Yoda saying, “This one, long have I watched. All her life has she looked away… to the future, to the horizon. Never her mind on where she was.”
Here and now. This moment is all I have; the future, as the green guy said, is always in motion. (Wise little alien that he was.) It’s foolish to pin my hopes on an ideal world that in all likelihood will never materialize. I will always have sick kids and snow days, doctor appointments and IEP meetings, school pickup and dinner to make, that will prevent me from retreating for weeks to a woodland paradise. But then, without them, life would be empty. Where would I learn about suffering and joy, beauty and pain, and the way they are all inextricably linked together?
So today I recommit to the count of a thousand gifts: sparkling moments sprinkled in among the gray winter of discontent. Today I commit to learning that elusive skill of living here, living now, of sucking the marrow out of life and celebrating the present.
-Perfect Snowflakes: One drifting down to rest on spidery crystal legs on the rubber strip below the window of the truck. One on the head of one perfect little girl (sorry the focus isn’t terrific–you try getting this girl to stand still long enough to have her picture taken!)
-The way the energy level of the house changes when Alex comes home from school, an immediate electrification of the air, an instantaneous alchemy of completion.
-The warbling giggle of my almost-22-month-old as said big brother chases him around the house roaring, and Julianna sits off to the side giggling uncontrollably at the rank silliness of the menfolk.
-A DQ Chocolate Extreme blizzard, shared with my girl
-Wonderful teachers for my children
-Choir members who build a community around us
-A few stolen moments by the river, watching the ice grind itself into perfect circles as it spins around the bends on its way to warmer weather:
-Gratitudes that are not meant for public consumption
-The chance to submit a manuscript
-The chance to make a difference by working at the diocesan level, and by teaching NFP
-The privilege of the writing gift, which I must remember is just that, a gift, and less important than my ordinary, humdrum life
-The structure that limits my writing time, which makes me focus and produce instead of wallowing and wasting time. (At least, not wasting as much time.)
-Grandmothers who have lived long enough to be known and loved by their great-grandchildren
What do you have to be grateful for today?
Kathleen M. Basi 
I had the same experience – putting photos into albums thinking, I should take more pictures of whiny kids and messy rooms so my kids don’t think their childhood was perfect!!! The photo of your daughter with Down syndrome makes my heart ache. Our dream of adopting has been tabled indefinitely because of my cancer but how my heart longs for that little baby I will someday bring home!
“…whiny kids and messy rooms…” LOL! Someday Julianna will hate me for putting that picture up…but it just seemed to encapsulate the whole of life since the 27th of December, when the “ick” moved into our house (where it has, evidently, decided to take up permanent residence in one form or another).
We once planned to adopt, and I still feel a pang sometimes at the thought of what we let go of when we finally began conceiving naturally.
Boy, can I relate re: the angst about being productive and the constant multitasking. I just read somewhere that according to psychologists (paraphrasing here), being grateful overrides the part of the brain dedicated to worrying. Interesting, isn’t it?
Very interesting. But it makes sense.
The second picture doesn’t look out of focus at all, in fact, the level of detail is quite high (see the sleeve). I loved the third one, though, winter shots are good.
Love the pictures. Julianna is adorable. I am grateful that I can visit fellow Catholics through Sunday Snippets and get a peek at how others live the Faith. Very inspiring.