It's echoed in everything from
Alice in Wonderland to cancer blogs to mothering conferences and executive training seminars. All of America, it sometimes seems, is in a rush. We "suck the marrow out of life", "live like we are dying", we're "supermom", the dad that holds down a top level job
and has time for t-ball practice. At each stage of life, we wonder what we are missing...and if perhaps we'll find true happiness in the stage yet to come.
One child won't put his feet on the pedals, and shuffles along on his too-big bike like a little old man. The other not only finds the pedals, but finds her balance and freedom all in one long Easter afternoon on the cul-de-sac at Grandma & Grandpa's house. It's so easy to push ourselves, to overfill calendars, and take on ministry after ministry. I find myself reaching for a camera - not only because I love the art of capturing images in still frame, but also because I live in fear of forgetting the scenes that go rushing past too quick to capture in the depths of my mind. Instead of enhancing joy, instead of growing relationships and building trust in God, I know there are times for me - for all of us - when service to others and the flurry of relationships burden instead of uplift, disappoint instead of fueling hope, scatter brains instead of gathering memories.
Cancer threatens to push many young survivors into fast forward. "Living life to the fullest" may not include the porch swing, the lazy Sunday afternoon. Or it may put too much emphasis on small joys, stealing from the larger joy of understanding our place on the continuum of mortality and eternity. To balance the bittersweet newness, fleetingness of all that is life post-cancer with the responsibilities, the ministries, the opportunities whose doors open in cancer's wake...not an easy task, made even more difficult by the age at which we young survivors embark.
I pray I find peace between the high gear life has been slammed into and the ability to truly
savor. The French -
savur or
saveur - takes on so much richer meaning in Dutch (
schmaak) and Italian (
gusto). I want to
schmaack life on my lips with
gusto. Life is very, very good. Yet
what follows will be so much sweeter.
For we know in part...but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears. Now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. (I Corinthians 13:10-11 exc.)
One child won't put his feet on the pedals, and shuffles along on his too-big bike like a little old man. The other not only finds the pedals, but finds her balance and freedom all in one long Easter afternoon on the cul-de-sac at Grandma & Grandpa's house. It's so easy to push ourselves, to overfill calendars, and take on ministry after ministry. I find myself reaching for a camera - not only because I love the art of capturing images in still frame, but also because I live in fear of forgetting the scenes that go rushing past too quick to capture in the depths of my mind. Instead of enhancing joy, instead of growing relationships and building trust in God, I know there are times for me - for all of us - when service to others and the flurry of relationships burden instead of uplift, disappoint instead of fueling hope, scatter brains instead of gathering memories.
Cancer threatens to push many young survivors into fast forward. "Living life to the fullest" may not include the porch swing, the lazy Sunday afternoon. Or it may put too much emphasis on small joys, stealing from the larger joy of understanding our place on the continuum of mortality and eternity. To balance the bittersweet newness, fleetingness of all that is life post-cancer with the responsibilities, the ministries, the opportunities whose doors open in cancer's wake...not an easy task, made even more difficult by the age at which we young survivors embark.