Book of Days

It's been a quiet week.

A quietly hard week.

The kind of week that often seems to follow those weeks so laden with joy that I can hardly write down the gifts fast enough.

Thursday had come before I'd really opened the gratitude journal, taken note of the moments, opened my eyes to see the glimpses of God in ordinary days.  I sat down at my art table that afternoon, held the journal in my hands, and whispered, I haven't written anything in my book yet--my Book of Days.

I'd never called it that before, Book of Days.  And I don't know why I said it then.  But just as soon as I did, these words flitted across my mind:

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.  (Psalm 139:14-16)

 Yes, all the days ordained for me have been written in God's book.  His Book of Days.

And I wondered then, as now, whether His Book of Days is anything like mine.  A listing of all the gifts He has given, and will give yet, every day of my life?  A record of all His Goodness cascading down through the moments of this one girl's earthly course?  Not so that He can remember, but so that I can see it someday, so that I can give thanks for the things I've missed along the way, so that I can trace His Love even in the blackest nights and the most ordinary days.

Because I know I've already missed days, years even, of the Gifts, the Goodness, the Love.  Eyes blinded by darkness, fear, exhaustion, soul-wounds.  Decades spent living without fully living.  Too much time lost to the doubting of His Love, the doubting of Him.

And still now, even after the awakening of eucharisteo, some days I shut my eyes or don't turn them to where He is and I struggle to really see.  My Book of Days is incomplete, full of holes and missing pieces.  Missing moments of God.

My heart aches for all the missed sightings of the One Who is always here.  And I want to pry open my soul-eyes and fix them there so that I'll never not see Him again.  I hope and I pray and I beg for God to keep a Book of Days for me with all the pieces there together, woven into the beauty of His story.

Because there's no question that I'm going to flail about in this life, fall on my face countless times, fail to see Him here. 

But I'll keep trying, keep opening my little Book of Days, keep scratching down the bits and pieces of God I find.  Even in ordinary days.  Even in pitch-dark nights.  And I'll keep at it for all the days I have remaining in His Book of Days.

And all the way along, I'll trust that He's keeping a record of His own, of everything I've missed, eagerly waiting for the day when He'll turn the pages for me to see and He'll recount every drop of His Love and I'll just lay low in humble gratitude for all the gifts, all of the goodness, all of Him.

The kind of gratitude that can't really be spoken, only lived.



634.  Bags unpacked, everything back in place

635.  Three loads of laundry washed and put away

636.  Day to recover, prepare for life after vacation

637.  Hail storm in the morning, blue skies in the afternoon

638.  Rows of mistakes undone, progress being re-made

639.  Annabelle Cat running wild after old toy comes out of hiding

640.  The Hope Bird perched on my desk while I work

641.  The Joy Bird perched on my art table while I create

642.  Cooking dinner with Dad

643.  Savory bread pudding with feta, mushrooms, and roasted peppers

644.  Friend who sees God in the eggs

645.  Facebook banter with my brother

646.  Mistakes pointed out, keeping me humble in my work

647.  Organizing the cupboards, clearing out the excess

648.  Afternoon nap when the head needs clearing and the heart needs rest

649.  Buddy Cat snuggled up beside me, happy for the company, happy to share the bed

650.  Cooking done for the week, leftovers piled up

651.  Lone bird on the wire, backed by ominous clouds

652.  Lady bug traversing the windowpane

653.  Squinting against the sunlight to watch the lady bug's journey

654.  Buddy Cat bird watching beside me while I work

655.  Finding inspiration for poetry

656.  Writing the first poem in exactly three months

657.  Words finally coming to finish the last stanza

658.  Blue skies at sunrise, half-moon still hanging high

659.  Day without clouds--always, always a gift!

660.  Birthday lunch with friends

661.  Easter Eve dinner with family

662.  Easter baskets for grown children

663.  Staying in pajamas until 10 am

664.  Meal planning going easily--for once!

665.  God Who conquers death, rises from the grave even when the clouds don't break

666.  Redemption flowing down, reaching even me

667.  Messiah Who gave thanks before He went to the cross, opened the way for abundant life

668.  Eucharisteo.  Always eucharisteo

669.  Three peony plants budded with promise in my own front yard

670.  Dogwood tree just coming into bloom, glimpsed on the drive to church

671.  Driving to the Easter celebration while "There Will Be A Day" plays on the stereo

672.  That there will be a day with no more pain, no more fears, no more burdens

673.  And that day is made possible because of this day--Resurrection Sunday

674.  Finally feeling the celebration, the Glory of Easter after a long week of quiet heaviness

675.  God Who knows suffering--His and ours

676.  That our Messiah lived to die so that we might live to live

677.  Hammer shattering glass, shards of truth piercing my soul

678. The fragrance of Christ in us, our brokenness releasing Him to the world

679.  My Book of Days, scribbling down pieces of God

680.  His Book of Days, capturing every bit of me and Him and us

681.  The Love that runs through all my days, in His book and mine

682.  The gratitude that can't be spoken, only lived