I had this quote on my desk for years. Now it is engraved on my brain and in my heart:
“Old age occurs the moment you quit expecting something wonderful around the next corner. For some people, that happens very early; for others, it never happens.”
And I am always looking, always expecting–that wonderful something–somewhere–today.
That in no way negates the fact that I am a most contented person. May seem like an oxymoron to you, but believe me, I know me, and it isn’t.
I enjoy watching birds at my 6 feeders outside my window–at this minute there are three different woodpeckers at the suet feeders, ten bright cardinals with 8 of their spouses near by and countless titmice and finches playing bird games or fighting–I can’t tell.
Walking in the wind delights my spirit; a favorite place is being in the kitchen preparing dinner for Tom. Nothing so contents me as reading in front of the fireplace while toe-touching on the foot stool between us.
In all these, I am happy, at peace, excited to be living in the ‘here and now’, and they are wonderful, sure– –but there must be more.
Comments from C.S. Lewis this week blessed me as he revealed thoughts on hearing rhythms that pulse from the Father’s heart—-
“All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it—tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest–if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself–you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say, ‘Here at last is the thing I was made for.'”
Have you experienced such a time? When you turn around to ‘see’ why the moment is brighter, sweeter–almost musical. When you begin to sing with someone– not there. That must be only a hint of what will come, a promise, a hope that there is more . .
Of Him, His presence . . .
Where, oh, where did that echo disappear?
And so, I wait, expecting the grand finale of the song–any minute. And it will be wonderful . . .