One summer when I was a child, I wrote excitedly in my diary about my aunt and cousins coming from New York to visit us in Miami. I began the countdown weeks ahead of time, as I imagined all the fun ahead. We’d go to the pool, we’d run through the sprinklers on the lawn, we’d play board games.
“They’re here!” reads one entry, and then nothing was written for three weeks, because I was so busy with my cousins. The next entry glumly says, “I wish they’d leave.”
Problem was, I had built up this imaginary future to such heights that nothing could have matched my dreams. As I envisioned pool excursions and games, I overlooked the inevitable snarls that develop when children get together.
My aunt wasn’t keen on disciplining the cousins, which began grating on my nerves. Why were they allowed cookies before supper, when I wasn’t? Why did they stay up late watching TV, when I had an earlier bedtime? My mental image of a fun-filled summer made it hard to deal with the actual reality. Unfortunately, this habit of imagining perfect future moments stalked me throughout adulthood.
When I was teaching college, for example, I couldn’t wait for the semester break. When I worked in an office, I began longing for the weekend on Wednesday. Once the weekend came, however, it went too quickly, because when we live in the future, we ignore the thousands of little moments in the present.
Dwelling on the future can obscure what’s happening right now. Have you ever taken a long walk and then realized you don’t recall what you saw, because you were spinning out what ifs about tomorrow? The doctor’s appointment, taking the car in for servicing, figuring out the finances.
In Exodus, God described himself to Moses as, “I am who I am.” He didn’t describe himself in past or future tense, because he exists in the present moment. Elijah encountered God in the gentle whisper of the wind, which suggests he was fully alert.
Right now, my heart is beating, the refrigerator is humming, my cat is napping and the clock is drumming a steady beat. Outside, a squirrel is making a hasty retreat from the blueberry bushes with his cheeks bulging. A minute from now, all this might be gone.
Christ said, “Don’t worry about tomorrow. Tomorrow will take care of itself.” This doesn’t mean living without plans, but rather awakening to what’s right in front of us. He also talked about the coming persecutions: “When they hand you over, do not worry about how you are to speak….You will be given at that moment what you are to say.”
We stand at the crossroads between yesterday, which is gone, and tomorrow, which may never come. We have to rein in our busy minds, which keep drifting into the future, since the present moment is all we have — and it is fleeting.
“This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it,” writes the psalmist. This is a simple prayer of gratitude for the world around us. “Give us this day our daily bread” is part of the Lord’s prayer, reminding us today is a treasure. Excuse me now, dear readers, while I have a word with that squirrel.
Lorraine’s email address is lorrainevmurray@yahoo.com.
