Spending
2011 is coming to a close and 2012 opens up before us, blank and clean as the snow we woke to on Christmas morning.
I've been thinking about what this year has meant to me, and I have to say it's been one of the most character forming years of my thirty-three.
I think if I've learned anything at all, if I've been prompted to reform myself in the new year ahead, it's been in the area of "spending." I don't mean money, I mean life. What am I spending my life on? This question has popped into my head numerous times in the last year, prompted by circumstances, reflection, and conviction.
I'm not going to lie. This past year has been challenging, exhausting, but I match that hardship with a strange result: I feel full. The German word is "sat." There's no good translation for it. Satiated maybe? So full you couldn't eat another bite, more than provided for, satisfied (not with circumstances), but in my spirit.
I say this carefully. Because January of this last year brought a huge change to our lives; as the year played out with its other attending frustrations and losses, I asked again and again."When is it enough?" And December brings another sorrow: Our dear friends lost their daughter. Unexpected. So very hard. And dark. Their grief running deep. And it feels so very needless. Like God dropped the ball. Like he could have just stepped in and created different results.
"Sat."
How is this?
I'm not quite sure, except I know this. I know that there are things worth spending a life on. And there are things that just aren't.
It is worth spending your life on love. It is worth the risk, the pain, the beauty. There is nothing greater than the extravagance of spending yourself on love.
It is worth spending your life on service.
It is worth spending your life on relationships.
It is worth spending your life on meaningful work, whether that work earns you millions or pennies or nothing at all. It is worth it.
And here's what surprises me:
My faith might have broken into a million little pieces under the pressure of this past year. And at times, I felt it had. But every difficulty breeds deeper conviction, and the stories I've told, and the ones I've heard and read, and the ones not yet written, remind me that though change and pain may scar us, they do not alter the things that are true.
My children have shared wisdom beyond their years. They are, of course, still kids, but in between the lines, they surprise me over and over.
The way they taught Mark and I to love our son, their brother, with shining, sweet, unconditional love. The way E, this afternoon, worked with me in the kitchen to prepare a meal for our friends who lost their little girl and in her five-year-old way arranged vegetables on a salad so perfectly, so tenderly, I thought I'd cry in the lettuce. The way she told me she loved to cook, and I realized she had made her first discovery that a simple act like preparing food could be a beautiful act of love. Because the truth is she doesn't love cooking, but she does love our friends. The way A told me in the car tonight, "We pray for them," meaning the same friends. We do, indeed. The way the three laugh together, hold one another, read stories, take care of each other (change one another's diapers even!), look out for their dear old parents....already, they are doing this, taking care of us. Loving on us in sweet, simple ways. Artwork taped to our bedroom door, an unexpected hug, an unsought compliment or thank you, a face held between two sweet hands, a kiss. Spending their lives on love. It's what they do best. These kids. These gifts we've been given.
So when you think about your year ahead, what you will spend it on, what you'll give your precious time to, how you'll see the sweetness and the bitterness, the blessings and the losses, when you contemplate the plans you will make, ask yourself this: Whatever it is, is it worth it? For we've only been given this one life. This one time. And there are enough distractions in our world: money, media, possessions, worry, fear. There is enough of all that. But there's never too much love. Spend it on love. Be extravagant.
I've been thinking about what this year has meant to me, and I have to say it's been one of the most character forming years of my thirty-three.
I think if I've learned anything at all, if I've been prompted to reform myself in the new year ahead, it's been in the area of "spending." I don't mean money, I mean life. What am I spending my life on? This question has popped into my head numerous times in the last year, prompted by circumstances, reflection, and conviction.
I'm not going to lie. This past year has been challenging, exhausting, but I match that hardship with a strange result: I feel full. The German word is "sat." There's no good translation for it. Satiated maybe? So full you couldn't eat another bite, more than provided for, satisfied (not with circumstances), but in my spirit.
I say this carefully. Because January of this last year brought a huge change to our lives; as the year played out with its other attending frustrations and losses, I asked again and again."When is it enough?" And December brings another sorrow: Our dear friends lost their daughter. Unexpected. So very hard. And dark. Their grief running deep. And it feels so very needless. Like God dropped the ball. Like he could have just stepped in and created different results.
"Sat."
How is this?
I'm not quite sure, except I know this. I know that there are things worth spending a life on. And there are things that just aren't.
It is worth spending your life on love. It is worth the risk, the pain, the beauty. There is nothing greater than the extravagance of spending yourself on love.
It is worth spending your life on service.
It is worth spending your life on relationships.
It is worth spending your life on meaningful work, whether that work earns you millions or pennies or nothing at all. It is worth it.
And here's what surprises me:
My faith might have broken into a million little pieces under the pressure of this past year. And at times, I felt it had. But every difficulty breeds deeper conviction, and the stories I've told, and the ones I've heard and read, and the ones not yet written, remind me that though change and pain may scar us, they do not alter the things that are true.
My children have shared wisdom beyond their years. They are, of course, still kids, but in between the lines, they surprise me over and over.
The way they taught Mark and I to love our son, their brother, with shining, sweet, unconditional love. The way E, this afternoon, worked with me in the kitchen to prepare a meal for our friends who lost their little girl and in her five-year-old way arranged vegetables on a salad so perfectly, so tenderly, I thought I'd cry in the lettuce. The way she told me she loved to cook, and I realized she had made her first discovery that a simple act like preparing food could be a beautiful act of love. Because the truth is she doesn't love cooking, but she does love our friends. The way A told me in the car tonight, "We pray for them," meaning the same friends. We do, indeed. The way the three laugh together, hold one another, read stories, take care of each other (change one another's diapers even!), look out for their dear old parents....already, they are doing this, taking care of us. Loving on us in sweet, simple ways. Artwork taped to our bedroom door, an unexpected hug, an unsought compliment or thank you, a face held between two sweet hands, a kiss. Spending their lives on love. It's what they do best. These kids. These gifts we've been given.
So when you think about your year ahead, what you will spend it on, what you'll give your precious time to, how you'll see the sweetness and the bitterness, the blessings and the losses, when you contemplate the plans you will make, ask yourself this: Whatever it is, is it worth it? For we've only been given this one life. This one time. And there are enough distractions in our world: money, media, possessions, worry, fear. There is enough of all that. But there's never too much love. Spend it on love. Be extravagant.
