Like most of us, I have tended to live for the next. The next season. The next accomplishment. The next stage. I am learning, slowly, to accept the now.
I don’t like the now, to be honest. I don’t like its messy. I don’t like all the flaws I see in it (and in me). I don’t want to have to do the hard boring work of what’s right in front of me. I want the glamor of the next success. I want the wisdom of hindsight.
I certainly don’t want to live right where I am and accept, even celebrate, the people and places God surrounds me with today.
Sorting Clothes
I recently had to face up to the utterly-dreadful task of changing out my kids’ clothes for the season. Maybe that chore is a joy for you. Me, not so much.
With four kids, three dressers, only-the-good-Lord-knows how many tubs to be sorted through and then repacked, plus the piles of clothes to sell or donate AND all the extra laundry that these seasonal changes require, it’s a major undertaking.
But the biggest stress is the twins. They’re the oldest, the tallest, the biggest. And at each new season, they’re the ones most likely to need new clothes. Erin had to have an entire wardrobe at the fall-to-winter change. And again as the warm weather hit. Her legs are longer and her shirts are suddenly short. So new clothes were needed.
But Alex … not so much. I keep promising him (and myself) that one of these days you’ll start growing, my dude. One of these days, you’ll catch Erin (she’s a half-inch taller), and she’ll never catch you back. One of these days, dear boy, you’ll fill out to match those feet that are, all of a sudden, the same size as mine.
The Dilemma
But he hasn’t yet. And therein lies my dilemma.
Alex is ten, but he still needs size 8 pants. I can buy him 10s, but only with adjustable waists. And since apparently, all young men are supposed to dress like athletes about to pick up some Nike or Under Armor sponsorship deal, there aren’t that many adjustable waist shorts to be had.
So I’m stuck. I’m tempted to buy him the 10s because one of these days he’s going to start growing and he’ll have them. But he’ll also be hitchin’ up his britches for every hour of the day right now. And dang it, I just don’t want to drop all the money on a size of pants that he might grow out of, like, tomorrow.
So I hedge. I hum and hesitate. I hold my mouse over the Place Order button and can’t quite bring myself to click it.
Except, I have to. Because the boy needs some pants.
A Bigger Issue
I did buy the shorts, by the way. Five new pairs of shorts, size 8, because that’s what he needs. Right now. He needs clothes that fit where he is. He needs to be able to reach into his drawer and trust that anything he pulls out will be good for him. And I need to know I don’t have to wash his pants every other day in order to keep him clothed.
But I also realize balking is kind of ridiculous. Just buy the boy some pants, woman! And of course it’s not really about pants at all. It’s about a deeper issue: Why is it so hard to accept the now? Why do I refuse to live today?
I’m planning so hard for the next thing that I’m willing to make both of us uncomfortable for the foreseeable future. In trying to control the next stage, I’m not actually living the one I’m in. I’m spastic and frantic. I push and scurry and speak sharply to my children.
And at its heart, it’s fear.
Learning to Accept the Now
In order to accept the now, I also have to accept the fear.
I don’t have to live in fear. That’s not helpful at all. I simply have to acknowledge that it is fear that keeps me always living in the past or the future, never the now.
I’m afraid of having to face the consequences of my past. I’m afraid I won’t be able to handle the future. I’m afraid I can’t actually trust the God who says he’s got it all well in hand.
But God doesn’t live in the past. And because of his faithfulness, the future is already settled. Which means, God only acts in the now.
While I flutter around, avoiding today like the plague, God waits, sure and quiet and steadfast, for me to join him. For me to deal with the actual reality I’m living and not the ten thousand possibilities that I imagine. Truly, I waste a lot of energy fighting imaginary dragons.
God does not. He deals with today. Real life. Right now.
Living in the Now
So I buy size 8 pants for my son, trusting that they won’t go to waste if Alex suddenly explodes in size over the summer. And I face down my writing, doing the hard work of sitting down without distractions and putting words out there for others to read.
Because that’s what it means for me to accept the now.
Most of all, it means being honest with God and myself and my people about how today is a scary thing. It makes me feel vulnerable. Because if it’s bad, it’s hard to deal with. And if it’s good, I hold back from enjoying it because, in a heartbeat, I might lose it all. So instead of accepting the now, I tend to avoid it.
But I’ve missed out on too much glorious, beautiful right-now because of fear. So no more. Living in the now isn’t easy. Life isn’t easy. And fear doesn’t just go away when I want it to.
But God is in the now. And because he is there, now is the safest place I can be.
