Getting found almost always means being lost for a while. –
Anne Lamott in Small Victories

Too high.  Too
great.  Too marvelous.

 

These are the kind of things my heart was snagged on this
morning.  My eyes were lifted up toward
the future, toward a time of change which I sense is coming and cannot yet
see. 

We need extra income. 
I need meaningful work aside from mothering.  And yet I cannot seem to get the two things
to align. 

//

We left in the middle of the sermon this morning after I
turned to my husband crying, worrying over past decisions and anxious for the
future.  Outside the sun blazed as we sat
in its heat, unenlightened, circling again the same questions without answers.  Then we went back inside the still-new-to-us
building to get our kids. 

No one stands around talking at this new church, the parking
lot and Sunday school classrooms empty in seconds flat.  Alarmed at having been the last kids left for
several weeks now, Isaiah made me promise this morning to come to get
him “fik” (quick) when the service was over. 

Today I was the first one there and his face beamed.  “That’s my Mom,” he said, buoyant with his own
unique brand of happy love. 

We stopped at Home Depot on the way home and I ran into the
garden area while the rest waited in the van. 
I was looking for perennials to fill the two permanent pots out front,
but most of what they had were flashy annuals. 
The perennials sat in the back, discounted and dry, so I left without
buying anything.  I didn’t want a bargain
just because it was cheap and I wanted something that would last. 

//

By the time we got back home, my heart had found its footing again.  I can’t tell you exactly how it happened, but it had something to do with
my OneWord for the year – small – and something also to do with this Psalm, the
one I shared last week in stillness.

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.

But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord from this time on and forevermore.

(Psalm 131)

I studied this Psalm in seminary with well known Old
Testament scholar, Patrick Miller.  As a Psalm of Ascent, Psalm 131 is associated with the pilgrimages to
Jerusalem.  From what I remember, it’s
believed that these psalms were written and sung or prayed on the journey.  Miller suggested this psalm, because of its
intimate reference to “the weaned child that is with me” is one of the few we
can reliably conclude was written by a woman. 

A woman walking.  A
woman on a journey, praying.  A woman
looking at her child and seeing in the child’s face a mirror for her own soul –
the calmness, contentment of a child trusting the one with whom it walks. 

//

Earlier this week Isaiah lost his sister’s helium
balloon.  His little hand opened for a
second and the balloon shot up into the air with its ribbon tail trailing behind.
 

“How will we get it?” he asked.

“We can’t.” I said, with finality.  Then I knelt and hugged him as he raised his
hands to cover his eyes.  I would’ve
given a lot to be able to reach up and grab that balloon. 

The balloon was unfettered, lost. 

//

That’s how my soul felt this morning.  I was looking too far ahead, worrying about
decisions already made and before I knew it I was somewhere far away like that
balloon, lost.  I forgot the One I am
walking with, the One who bears me on the journey, the One I trust to get me “fik”
when I am waiting.

God does not leave us lost for long, though.  Like a woman sweeping, like a shepherd with
its sheep, like a father with a son – God seeks we who are forever getting
lost.  God plucks us out of a wide sky of
fear and worry, out of the lofty heights of ambition and anxiety.  God mothers us on the journey as we walk
together, side-by-side.     

Photo Credit.

*   *   *   

Welcome to the #SmallWonder link-up.

What if we chose to deliberately look for the small moments of wonder, the small sparks of presence, of delight or sorrow, of true humanity in which we meet God? 

That’s my proposal – that we gather here each week to share one moment of Wonder from each of our days.  

You’re invited to link-up a brief post about a small moment of wonder.  Don’t worry if your post is too long, too short, or not just right – you’re welcome to come as you are. 

While you’re here, please do take a look around and encourage at least one other blogger with a comment.