It is while traveling through Samaria, going from Galilee to Jerusalem, that Jesus takes the time to tell stories that prepare his followers to bring the ordinariness of their lives into conscious awareness and participation in this kingdom life. Jesus announces to his disciples that he is going to Jerusalem to be crucified, and he calls them to go with him. As they walk together those several days, he prepares them for their post-crucifixion and post-resurrection lives…But it is interesting and significant that Jesus doesn’t use crisis language. He speaks conversationally, hardly raising his voice. Mostly he tells stories. Some of his followers (although not all) will never forget these stories. (Eugene Peterson, Tell It Slant)
When I open the door to let Lucy Mae out this morning it smells like rain. I look up at the sky but the ribbons of white from yesterday are gone.
There is light.
On Sunday at 2 a.m., Daylight Saving Time begins. When I set my clock up—spring forward—this light will be tipped into the evening and we will try to save the light.
But me? I want to save this time—right here, right now. Not just save. Save—or. Savor. I want to savor this time. I have my list of things in need of doing and before seven a.m. I’m already planning the order of events. But something strange happens on the way. On the way to dropping the boys at school.
On the way. So much happens on the way, doesn’t it?
I am thinking about The Travel Narrative—the ten chapters in Luke’s gospel (9:51-19:41) that tell about his journey from Galilee to Jerusalem—on his way to the cross. I’ve been reading Eugene Peterson’s thoughts on this journey, and it has softened me to these moments in-between…the time on the way.
On the way to dropping the boys off at school, we pray—as usual. But this time, something strange happens. This time, I hear the words I am praying for my boys.
Lord, be with Teddy and Jeffy today. Help them to do their best at the work you have given them—this work of school. Let their words and deeds bring you glory and honor. And Lord? Just let them be a blessing to someone today. I pray they make you smile…
Be a blessing. That’s what I pray for them every day. And all at once, I’m tired of my list and these dirty floors and the laundry that needs folding and the book that needs reading and I wonder what will happen if I just sit in the light this morning and let the list wait.
Because I’m tired of thinking about me. I think about the grace of our Lord who was taking that long walk to the cross and how he chose to spend that time as a blessing—teaching his disciples in a way that they could hear. Really hear. And I’m tired of making all of life an emergency.
So I do. I sit outside for a time in this Light with the Words and I die to all those expectations. The birds sing spring into the air around me and the trees are coming alive and I savor. I close my eyes and see a face, and I know who it is—just who I will be the blessing to today.
But there is no hurry. There is no rush. So I open my hands, palm up, and cup them together. And I scoop these moments up into my heart.
I save the daylight.