Living In This Moment

Thanks to the ease of a laptop, I'm writing this post from my warm and cozy bed, buried under not one or two, but four blankets. The dark night sits still and quiet outside my window, the ground submerged under a foot thick covering of white, and the temperature has taken a dip below the zero mark. It is both breathtaking to the eye to see such pristine beauty and cruel to any exposed inch of skin that tries to stand outside for more than a few moments. Winter has taken firm hold of my Kentucky home.

My week began with an unexpected holiday from my office, two days our doors remained closed due to this recent change in weather. My children have traded an entire week of school days for card games, all means of electronic device entertainment, breakfasts at ten and bedtime at eleven. They've sprinted out into the snowy back yard more than once to build forts and make snowballs, and in return, my kitchen floor is littered with layers of wet clothing, hats, scarves and gloves from their treks outdoors. Cabin fever has started to stir within them, so much so that a trip to the grocery store was a welcome outing. Anything to release them from the same set of walls they've been staring at for days.

I've scrolled through my Facebook feed and seen pictures of snow men, snow angels, and kind hearted neighbors that have shoveled driveways so my friends could get out to the road. Updates were quick to spread when the local school systems finally gave in and admitted defeat on Wednesday, calling off classes for the rest of the week.

It's not surprising when the temperature drops this low and your wheels are spinning as your trying to leave your house in the morning for work that people start wishing for Spring. Just as it comes as no surprise that when the temperature begins to rise towards triple digits and staying indoors to avoid a heat stroke is your only option, people will begin to wish for Fall. I get it, really, I do.

But, part of me reads through these words of wistful thinking, of this living in what is next on the calendar and just wants to press a halt button. Can't I just breathe in the slower pace that winter brings before I leap to the next season? Can't I enjoy thick, hearty stews for dinner with crusty bread, earthenware mugs of hot coffee snuggled under a blanket on my couch, college basketball and warm sweaters before we skip off to Easter? I need this fast paced world, with its telescope lens always locked on the horizon, to just let me breathe.

Please stop, world. Please, just live now. Right now. This moment.

God gave you this day. And, not just so you could look out your window and ponder just how miserable the weather is, or how much you long for what tomorrow holds. Today is not a day for waiting for the next holiday, the next vacation, the next item on the to do list. Today is a day for living - to see and to hear and to taste and to feel and to love and a million other unexpected blessings He has planned that you weren't even aware of when you opened your eyes. Not tomorrow's gifts, but today's.

While there may be moments today that we find ourselves longing for tomorrow, take a minute to embrace this very real truth:

"This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." Psalm 118:24