I've been having a lot of thoughts lately about a great many things. Some things too lofty for me to think of (like God's great grace) and other things maybe a bit too mundane (like the bother of having my oil changed in my car.) It's all rather fascinating the amount of energy that goes into either one. Like when I read the other day that Tim Keller said something like, "God's grace means it's OK that we're not all OK." Or something like that. Or like today when I was sitting at Valvoline and I asked the attendant how much the oil change would cost and I blacked out after the first 3 minutes of her speech. Seriously, all I wanted was an oil change.
I took a slow drive today from my home to the home of another. I took it slow and enjoyed the music, the conversation, and the view. It's still quite brown and dreary all around, but I sense that there is a springtime about to break loose on us all. It's like my niece who is learning to make sounds with her lips, tongue, and throat. She babbles and coos and makes a raspberry sound with her lips. What will happen is that we will not really notice her learning to speak until she actually speaks and we will be like, "Where did that come from?"
So it will be with springtime…slowly the trees will begin to break forth in green…slowly the grass will turn from yellow/brown to green…slowly the temperature will turn from miserable to 'the furnace isn't running anymore' and we will be like "Where did that come from?" All I can hope for is that I can slow down enough to notice the gradual changes that take place on the earth. I have gone through massive, monumental changes in the last 4 years, but as I sit here now all I can think about is how quickly those four years went by and how little I remember of the gradual changes I underwent that have culminated in the person I am now.
None of us just happen. We are at any moment the culmination of all the years, months, days, minutes and seconds that we have traveled through. We are a collection of thoughts–heavenly and mundane–and ideas and ambitions–some of which failed and others of which have succeeded. Whatever the case, here we are. We are hopeful and dreamy and worshipful and angry and sad and happy and bent of revenge and seeking forgiveness all at once, every day and every night. It never stops; it never relents.
I am constantly nagged by the thought that God pays attention to all of this. For some reason he is interested in who we are–not merely because he made us, but worse, I suspect, because he really does love us. "What is man that you are mindful of him?" the Psalmist asked.
Father, I had my oil changed today. My heart's next.