Today would have been Gramp’s 90th birthday. Tonight, with a Starbuck’s tall latte in hand, I pondered what I most missed. And I had an a-ha.
Gramp never rushed.
My clearest memories of him involve activities that displayed his at-ease-ness: gardening, long roadtrips, playing backgammon with me, drying dishes at the sink, playing a duet with me on their organ.
How did I never stop to realize that about him? Maybe it’s because I don’t often stop. Or even take my foot off the pedal to coast.
Oh, Gramp, thanks for the gift you gave me, today, on your birthday. A reverse gift of sorts. Thanks for modeling an unhurried life.
As a believer, Jesus is my rest. Yet how often I spiritually speed in the passing lane through my day. Much of it stems from acting like the world holds its breath until I can save the day. Yuck.
It’s not all up to me. I will say it again.
It’s not all up to me. I’m beginning to believe it.
It’s not all up to me. Thank you, God, it’s not.