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An Offering of Thanks

“Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then but that’s no matter – tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther . . . And one fine morning –   So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

–  F. Scott Fitzgerald – The Great Gatsby

I always hoped the future would bring the dreams I had envisioned. Feared it would bring the disasters I could imagine.

I knew when they were babes in my arms, it would not last. Still I thought maybe it could. Thought I could catch those moments and hold them tight like tiny babes clinging to their mother. I am borne back ceaselessly into the past, rushing forward to what’s to come, hopeful and half afraid. I find it so hard to stop and be – content. To own the space and time I’m in and give it all up.

I wonder if some out there are living the dream or if we all get to a point, crossing the tracks and wondering just how did our path lead here? Looking for a train to sweep us away or run us down. I thought I would live amongst the green and trees, a few acres of bliss, gardens laid out and horses roaming. I would not live in the world where one has to scrape and toil just to keep the home fires kindled, we would bloom and bring forth a life more blessed. Life has not unfurled as I imagined. Neither have my worst fears. I live somewhere between in uncertainty and bewilderment. Lost in the past, surging on towards the future, wondering just how I got here to this present I never could have dreamed. Contentment seems to always be escaping me, racing away as I watch other’s lives and wish for whatever I do not have . . . travel and excitement, recognition and success, quiet and solitude, community, a perfect family – anything – everything – the ability to make it through a day better than I do . . . As I grasp for what I think I need or should have, contentment flees and with it takes the possibility for any gratitude. I stomp my feet, demanding my way . . .

“Left to ourselves we tend immediately to reduce God to manageable terms. We want to get Him where we can use Him, or at least know where He is when we need Him. We want a God we can in some measure control.”

–  A. W. Tozer – The Knowledge of the Holy

But as C. S. Lewis wrote of that great lion Aslan, He is good but He is not tame . . .  when I see feathered boys with shining eyes I know my silliness for pining for my own plans. I could never have dreamed up creatures as magnificent as these dancing through my life, these little men collecting joy like beads on a string. My questions of control and choice fall silent before their creation, ever growing they build kingdoms beautiful out of sticks and simple faith.

I am humbled by this present and all the story surrounding it. And I am Thankful

 

These photos are from our simple Thanksgiving celebration with Jesse’s mother – breakfast and a hike to the beach with our little Indians, followed by dinner outside by the fire. The super rad headdress Aaron is wearing was made by my husband’s mom when Jesse was a kid.

11-22-12 . 24-70mm . VSCO2 Portra 400 UC++

  • Malissa Waterford - Sharon,
    I want to live next door or at least sit for hours over coffee that grows cold because the conversation is that good. Alas, the redundancy of my own desires bangs its head on the skylight while the invitation to the roof is left waiting in a pile somewhere.
    I love this post. I love the table outside and the growing more handsome faces. I love words put to so many beats of my heart. I cherish you from the ditch! Maybe today I’ll lay down my shovel and throw a tea party or take a nap.
    Loveage,
    MalissaReplyCancel

    • Sharon - oh man I wish we lived closer too Malissa! love you and miss you – hoping to make a trip out your way this fall 🙂 xoReplyCancel