The children grow up so quickly. They begin as a tender seed that does well if started indoors a few weeks before the last frost. You plant them carefully, lovingly, when the soil has warmed, and take care to water them against a hot sun. By mid summer you are leaning on your hoe in the garden and suddenly they are all grown up. It happens much too fast. Aside from a few treasured photographs and our fragile memories, we are left with little more than clothes which no longer fit. These are stored in plastic bags and tossed into the attic. What happens to time, after it’s gone? Do you suppose God keeps it in some special place where we might have the pleasure of reviewing it? Where we might rewind the tape and play it back, thereby giving us the opportunity to witness all the precious little things that, in our haste, we might have missed? I recall the weekend we borrowed a camcorder, and we filmed the children as they were playing in the yard. I remember thinking it was not really such a special moment, but an ordinary forty-five minute slice of everyday; something we can see each time we look out the window. If only I had that tape now. It is so precious, so special. So ordinary, so every day. This is revelation.
Posted on: Mon, 30 Jun 2014 03:19:55 +0000
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