It's been a few days since my fall. Since I haven't been able to do much in the way of renovating or unpacking, I've had a lot of time about what this experience might be teaching me. I did manage to make it to my women's small group meeting on Monday night, where the topic is learning to discern the voice of God, and all that goes with that.
I've come to realize that my actions in the days leading up to the accident were symbolic of how I've led my life in the past. And I've been forced to remember what I always seem to forget - that living on autopilot (in other words, out of focus on the bigger purpose) has consequences. Since moving into the house and embarking on my very ambitious plans for the house, I've been receiving subtle warnings from family and friends. "Don't overdo it"... "There's no need to rush"... "You've got plenty of time"... "Rome wasn't built in a day." Intellectually, I knew all those things were true, and I knew they were right. But I lost sight of the process and focused instead on the end result.
Knowing that I couldn't climb back on that ladder to pick up where I left off when I fell, last night I simply sat in the middle of the kitchen floor with the cabinet doors that had already been removed. I slowly started scraping paint, not with the force I used before to get it done quickly, but with a slow, steady rhythm, focusing on each small area, sometimes literally removing one coat at a time. Even though I knew doing it this way was going to take me longer, and even though my new pace was warranted by necessity not design, immediately I knew that this was the lesson.
As I sat there scraping, I saw the subtleties in the wood and felt the changes in the grain. I saw imperfections in the prior paint jobs that would require a little more time and effort to repair, and most importantly, I was moving slowly and quietly enough to be able to feel God's presence in the process. In those moments, I was reminded that life is not about rushing towards a predetermined destination, it's about enjoying the journey and savoring those sweet, simple moments along the way.
I've come to realize that my actions in the days leading up to the accident were symbolic of how I've led my life in the past. And I've been forced to remember what I always seem to forget - that living on autopilot (in other words, out of focus on the bigger purpose) has consequences. Since moving into the house and embarking on my very ambitious plans for the house, I've been receiving subtle warnings from family and friends. "Don't overdo it"... "There's no need to rush"... "You've got plenty of time"... "Rome wasn't built in a day." Intellectually, I knew all those things were true, and I knew they were right. But I lost sight of the process and focused instead on the end result.
Knowing that I couldn't climb back on that ladder to pick up where I left off when I fell, last night I simply sat in the middle of the kitchen floor with the cabinet doors that had already been removed. I slowly started scraping paint, not with the force I used before to get it done quickly, but with a slow, steady rhythm, focusing on each small area, sometimes literally removing one coat at a time. Even though I knew doing it this way was going to take me longer, and even though my new pace was warranted by necessity not design, immediately I knew that this was the lesson.
As I sat there scraping, I saw the subtleties in the wood and felt the changes in the grain. I saw imperfections in the prior paint jobs that would require a little more time and effort to repair, and most importantly, I was moving slowly and quietly enough to be able to feel God's presence in the process. In those moments, I was reminded that life is not about rushing towards a predetermined destination, it's about enjoying the journey and savoring those sweet, simple moments along the way.
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