“What’s the biggest difference you saw today?” I ask my seventeen-year old.
We’re talking about his first day back at a Lake Travis high-school, where the incoming freshman class is as big as the entire school he attended in southern Maryland last year.
“The hustle and the bustle,” he says, immediately.
Ah, yes. I feel it too.
We’ve gone from zero hustle and very little bustle in the last year, to the activity level of a whirling dervish troupe after too much caffeine.
In the last ten days, the farmer Halls packed up our solitary Maryland farm house (more on that later), and unpacked into the color and cares of our tight-knit west Austin community.
“I mean, it’s not bad” Luke continues, ” I love hearing our hundred-and-fifty person band play when I get to school in the morning. It feels like college.”
Yep, things really are bigger in Texas.
I’ve been thinking this week about how to think rightly about the new days ahead, and how to guide my children in the same way.
How do I spend my breaths? On whom do I pour out my energies? What work will demand my focus? How will I order my days? When will I think? When will I write?
How will I remember to be still?
Yesterday, Luke and I were checking out at Target and started making small talk with the weary cashier. I asked the young man how he was, and he sighed as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders and said “Too much to do, and not enough hours to do it.”
I’m telling you this guy was no older than twenty! Where did he learn this kind of rubbish? Luke started to look at me nervously because he knew I wouldn’t be able to let this pass.
“You know _________, we all only have a certain amount of breaths that God has given us. None of us know which breath might be our last, right? There is a wonderful reason that God is sustaining you, even now. He wants you to be awake and be thankful! You only have this minute, and you can only do this one thing at a time, so don’t worry about all the other hours, be thankful for just this one…”
“Ok. Thank you, Dr. Phil!” said Luke rather too loudly as he gripped my arm and ushered me away.
Oh God, help me to think rightly for me and my children.
Help me to work hard and well.
Help me to share burdens; lighten loads instead of add to them.
Help me to speak kindly and boldly, and to listen with care.
Help me build up the broken-hearted and search for the lost.
Help me to not become so busy in my own kingdom that laboring for you becomes a chore.
To the God who gives me new breath each day for his glory.