I woke up this morning and tried to convince myself today would be glorious.
Honestly, I didn’t really feel like it would be good, let alone glorious. Still, I pushed myself out of bed, started the kettle for tea and set about get ready for the day.
I had quiet time with the Lord and drank my tea. And somewhere between the Ten Commandments and Jesus saying, “Shoulder your cross and follow me,” I realized something:
Today is not about me.
Today will be full of many things. It would be full of meetings and notes scribbled in the margins of my Moleskine journal. And leftovers for lunch. And conversations of all kinds– some via Skype and some face-to-face, some with in-depth details and some that barely skim the surface. And a lot, a lot, a lot of driving.
But it wouldn’t be about me.
Not–anyway–if I wanted it to be glorious.
Sometimes I think I let myself get a little pigeon-holed. My vision narrows to a pinprick of what it could be, should be. Instead of seeing the heartbroken clerk at the grocery store deli, I focus on the ever rising cost of maple ham.
Does that make sense?
Sometimes we get caught up in what’s happening in us–too caught up to see the bigger story being created–and we forget that our days don’t belong to us.
Our days aren’t ever about us.
They are about the Creator and His extravagant love, His abundant grace, His incredible provision. We forget that when He invites us to the table, He doesn’t give us scraps. He provides a feast. Because we’re His children. And He’s a good Dad.
Lately, I’ve been thinking that if we pulled our heads out of our–well, you know–maybe we’d be able to see the glory in the everyday. Maybe we’d see the feast we’ve been invited to, instead of the famine we feel.
How do you change perspective when things get hard?