I think that’s what we all would like to do – make peace with our questions. Our little questions like “what should I do today?” and our big questions like “what am I supposed to do with my life?” I have most of this day off still ahead of me and quite a list of things I wish would be accomplished at the end of it. Which things on that list will bring the most peace? Personally, I don’t know that I would make the right choices – I just don’t know enough. There are so many things going on already in nature, in the world, in the lives of my family and friends and many of these things are so complicated I can’t begin to understand them. And yet there is this amazing sense of order underlying it all that gives me confidence in someone who created it all and keeps it going. Outside my window is a beautiful, living plant with outrageous red coloring in its leaves and as the spray from the irrigation hits it, beautiful large drops of clear water pool and drip from the leaf tips – this kind of miracle that existed before any of us were around was invented by a God who cares.
So someone knows what would be the best thing for me to do today and in my brief span of time living on earth, and I see evidence that he’s willing to give me direction. I know things may look a little uncertain and chaotic at times – nature shows me that too – but I eventually have to trust myself or someone clearly smarter than myself. Easy choice. How we ever come to think that we are smarter than whoever created our ability to think is hard to understand.
One of my questions is this: how do people who are very busy, very much in demand, very involved in passionate causes of all kinds, find time to write? Like big government and political people who suddenly come out with a biography or autobiography or a novel – when did they sit down and put in the hours of writing that it takes to produce a book? How do they decide to attach such importance to their writing that it trumps all the other stuff they need to do?
As I looked at my aging self in the mirror last night, I considered how many years I might reasonably have to make sense of all the journals and letters of my life. There’s supposed to be a book in there somewhere that I’m going to write “someday”. Suddenly, there’s not all that much time left, maybe 20 years at best, possibly much less. I should get at it with a sense of urgency if I believe it’s worth doing. I need to ask God for some clarity in the purposefulness of the project. I sense purpose but I don’t know how to express it in words yet.
I’m going out to work in the One Acre Woods for a while, to let my thoughts cook while my hands work. How thankful I am for my gardens.