It’s my favorite part of the evening, God. The lights are dimmed, the busyness over, and the only sounds I hear are the London clock ticking and the maniacs’ cars screeching outside. Okay, so maybe it isn’t as serene as I’d like it to be all the time, but it works for us, God, doesn’t it?
You know, it’s taken me 30 years to even scratch the surface of understanding this one thing, but I’m glad You bear with me while I fumble my way through this story You’re writing. You didn’t call me to one. huge. thing. You didn’t call me to that climactic event in my life that would be the ultimate purpose for the breath I take in each day. You didn’t call me to one powerful, exciting, earthshaking moment or day or year that would be the culmination of everything else about my life.
You called me to the small things, the everyday things, the seemingly insignificant things. You called me to the rote, the repetetive, the redundant. You called me to the day in, day out, seemingly menial acts of faithfulness and surrender and intentional hope and knees-in-the-dirt love in the everyday tasks You’ve set before me. You’ve called me not only to be trustworthy with those things; You’ve called me to find joy in those things.
Because brick by brick, a house is built. Word by word, a story is written. Breath by breath, a life is lived. And faithful act by faithful act, Your Kingdom is increased.
You didn’t call me to shake the nations. You called me to set my heart towards You. Because I am Your story, and You are the author, and You are the beginning and the end. You held my omega before Your quill had even dipped into the ink of Your Son’s precious blood to write the first word of the alpha of my redemption story. Because I am Yours.
Because I am not my own, but I am loved. And because I am not my own, my every moment, every breath, every heartbeat belongs to You. Every daily act of faithfulness is another brick in Your Kingdom. My life is but one stroke of the brush You’re using to create the masterpiece You and I will look upon at the end of time.
May it be said of me that I was a willing, open book, begging You to craft something out of me. May it be said that I found joy in the small things, the hard things, the incomprehensible things, the mundane things. May it be said that I found freedom in surrender, in service, in sacrifice.
Monday’s coming, Lord. My teacher heart feels it early Saturday morning, and my brain begins early to try to figure out the next steps, the next plan, the next idea. But tonight, in this not-so-quiet of only the clock ticking and the maniac racing, with yesterday’s small acts of both failure and faithfulness behind me and tomorrow’s ahead, let me rest in this moment. As I mark today off on the calendar, help me see each drop in the bucket as part of a wave.
Remind me of the minutes that add up to hours that add up to days that add up to weeks that add up to years that add up to the life You’ve given me that is neither deserved nor guaranteed. Help me see You in the small things so that I can do the small things that add up to the big things.
And tomorrow, when I forget this lesson (and You know I will), when I get stuck again with looking for the one. huge. thing, will You remind me again?