Present
Standing in line with sore feet and stiff backs, we heard the bad news: one of the elevators on Tower of Terror at Hollywood Studios was under maintenance. The line inched forward at an excruciatingly slow pace. When we had endured half the expected wait time, we felt the first drop . . . which immediately became a downpour. We were determined to ride, so we kept our place in line. Water filled our shoes and soaked our clothes. The chill in the air didn’t help either.
I must admit I am a recovering perfectionist. Years ago, I would have planned our trip, envisioning frolicking through play areas, squealing in delight on rides, and filling our bellies with delicious meals and snacks. Everyone was happy, and picture-perfect memories abounded. At the park, reality looked like whining in long lines, meltdowns and fighting over nothing, and sticky ice cream pooling in the stroller. My plan failed, my efforts failed, I’m a failure. Totally unhealthy, I know.
Back to our most recent trip: We made no plans except to buy the tickets. I asked one question of each of my people. What three things do you want to do most? We did not hold tightly to any plan but tried to fulfill each person’s “bucket list.” Anything else was a bonus. As we drove into the parking lot, my mantra ran on a loop: I want to be present, and I want to make memories, no matter what that looks like.
Did we love the thrill of every ride? Absolutely. Did we savor the taste of funnel cakes and Dole whip? A resounding yes. But we also squished around for hours after the downpour, uncomfortable in clothes that were wet in all the wrong places. Tempers flared as the lines grew longer and the temperature rose.
More than any of that, we were present, and we made memories. We talked and laughed, apologized and forgave. We shared our lives with each other, no matter what that looked like.
“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.”
Going to any amusement park for the day requires endurance . . . at least with my family. We are chomping at the bit when it opens and dragging through until closing. Paul recognized in this verse from his letter to Timothy that our spiritual lives also require endurance. But our race doesn’t have to be picture-perfect. Just as my family will always remember “that time we got drenched waiting in line for Tower of Terror,” we are more likely to remember “that time I failed God and He forgave me.”
In my walk with God, I want to be present. I want to notice His hand on my life. I want to recognize when He is protecting me, or teaching me, or providing for me . . . no matter what that looks like. I treasure making those memories with God so that I can look back and see God is faithful and loving and holy and full of grace.
Do you want to rely on yourself to be perfect in your relationship with God, only to be disappointed again and again? Or do you want to be present and see how God is working in your life through the ups and downs, storing memories of His guiding hand in all of it? I choose to be present and make memories . . . with my family and in my relationship with God.
