CHANGE: The GOOD, The BAD, and The UGLY

I still cannot believe that it is already 2012! I've always heard that time passes more quickly the older you get, but this is ridiculous. I can still recall putting the Christmas decorations away from a year ago as if it were last week (perhaps because that's when we put this past Christmas's decorations away, but you get the point).

This past New Year's my oldest son mentioned needing to come up with his "New Year's Resolutions," and the couple he shared with me were quite laudable. His mentioning New Year's Resolutions got me thinking. It's been a few years since I seriously paid much attention to making my own resolutions. Perhaps because of the years of experience of failed resolutions: I'm going to lose __ pounds, I'm going to drink more water (last year's resolution, highly unsuccessful!), I'm going to get back to a regular, healthy sleep schedule (also last year's resolution, also unsuccessful!), I'm going to quit eating fried food (several years ago, and fairly successful), I'm going to exercise every day (several years ago, successful or not depending on what was going on in my life, which I guess in and of itself means not terribly successful), etc. etc. The idea of New Year's Resolutions is to make a promise to yourself to make a generally positive change from your old way of doing things. Some people are much more successful at that than others, but then I suspect it is all dependent on how far the departure is from the norm.

New Year's Resolutions really signify change. If I'm honest with myself and you, I'm not a huge fan of change. I usually like "the same old, same old." Whether we are talking about what I usually order at a restaurant (what if I try something new and don't like it? Then I'll really wish I had ordered what I know I always love!), or the brand of bathroom tissue (definitely has to be soft!), or when I send out Christmas cards (I know that one really bugs some of you, while the rest of you, come on, admit it, find some sort of comfort in knowing that you'll get the Bengtson card right after Thanksgiving to signal the start of the wonderful Christmas season!). Now while I don't usually seek out change, and generally don't prefer it, I do Usually come around and embrace the new idea, new item, new way of doing something.

I've pondered what it is that makes people either love and endorse change, versus those of us who are not the most comfortable with it. While I hate to admit it, I think when you boil it down, it all comes back to the need for control. Not that I really desire to control everything or everyone (too much responsibility!!), but sameness, a lack of change, may be equated with stability, predictability, and for many, that results in peace and comfort. Change suggests the opposite...instability, variability, unpredictability, maybe even chaos.

As I often explain to many of my patients, anxiety usually stems from a feeling of being out of control. Whether it is a fear of heights, or test-taking anxiety, or anxiety from being stuck in traffic and potentially being late for an important appointment or meeting, the anxiety comes because we don't feel like we are in control in those situations. A very common, albeit not incredibly adaptive means of coping with anxiety then is withdrawal. By withdrawing from the stimuli or the situation that breeds anxiety in us, the anxiety no longer has a reason to exist. I HATE snakes, and have what I would consider a healthy fear of snakes. I will never be the mother who has the reptilian (??) man come to her son's birthday party! By avoiding snakes, I don't feel anxious...the anxiety has no reason to exist. Unfortunately, withdrawal or avoidance doesn't usually prompt any adaptive coping mechanisms. If I always avoid the snakes, I don't feel the pressure to learn which ones are totally harmless and not to be feared versus those that I should be cautious around (or perhaps totally avoid being in their presence!!) So then, since I didn't learn about them, every time I encounter one I experience anxiety.

Change can, for many people, induce anxiety. It can prompt the endless loop of "What if?" questions. The problem is, you can never exhaust or plan for all the possible what ifs. But it all comes back to the lack of feeling in control.

As I get older, I'm becoming more comfortable with the idea of embracing change. I prefer to be in control of what change I embrace, but the truth is, many times, no forethought, no planning, no "heads up" is available prior to significant change. At the office, where change occurs every day, often many times a day, I've tried to instill the philosophy in my staff of "Be Flexible and Modify." Just yesterday I was reminded of the motto "Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape." We can't resist the change in the schedule...it's going to happen anyway, so go with it and modify accordingly. It creates less stress, and definitely less anxiety.

The year 2011 passed by so incredibly quickly, yet as quickly as it flew by, I personally endured a great deal of change in my life, as did my office, most of it not of our own choosing. Sometimes I embraced it quickly, problem solved and figured out what had to be done and did it, other times I was a little slower to come around, but for the most part, each one of those scenarios left me/us better than we had started off in some way.

So as I sit here at the start of the third week in January, 2012, I wonder what change I will encounter this year, both planned and that which is forced upon me. Do I "take control" and help decide what change I'd like to see? In essence, do I make any resolutions? Do I grab my fear and face it head on? By facing it head on and deciding what I'm willing to do about it, the anxiety has no reason to exist. So what have I got to lose?

I have heard a statistic (don't quote me on the exact figure) that less than 5% of people who set goals (a.k.a. resolutions perhaps??) meet them, and the difference between those who do make the change and meet their goals and those who do not, is largely impacted by whether or not those goals were written down. Those who put their goals in writing succeed to a much greater extent than those who don't. I'm going to go for it. Here in black and white for you all to see, I resolve to write more this year to build my craft and hopefully to encourage more people.

What change are you going to embrace to make 2012 a better year than last? Write it down. Let me know and I'll be cheering along with you!

THE GIFT OF MEMORIES

Heavy sigh... The holidays are over. Christmas and New Years have come and gone, and we have started another year, 2012. Our visit with my in-laws was another one we will cherish. I love watching them interact with my family. My husband actually enjoys the tasks on his "honey-do" list when he has the company of his dad to visit with in the process...almost doesn't seem like work then (I did say "almost!") My boys love playing games with their grandfather...it's a time when win or lose doesn't matter nearly so much as the attention and the time together. My youngest son enjoys writing notes to his grandfather and drawing pictures for his grandmother. And they are always deeply saddened when it is time to say goodbye, especially when they don't know when they will see them again. Somehow it makes the miles between us seem greater without that future gathering to anticipate.

Yesterday when I arrived home from work my husband was puttering around the house while my father-in-law was concentrating intensely on something he was writing at the breakfast table. I heard him mention a few minutes later that he was working on his "blog" (I'm always first amazed and then secondly, proud, that he is so current with his technical knowledge and up to date with social media!) He was actually composing his note for our guest book that we keep in the guest bedroom for all who stay there to share their thoughts of the visit. I found myself getting excited, as I always do, in anticipation of reading his thoughts about their stay. One might think that it's out of a desire to be commended about the amenities (e.g. chocolate peppermint cookies with the chocolate drizzle, ebelskeivers for breakfast, the butler who greets them at the door (our shetland sheepdog) etc.) or being such good hosts (e.g. creating that "homey" feel for them when we remind them a bit of the comforts of home by letting them pour their own cereal or help with the dishes after the meal). But really, I've come to realize that it isn't that at all that fuels my feeling of joy in reading their written thoughts in the guest book. It's the anticipation of being allowed to share in their memory of a time spent together, a time that will be forever gone and never to be repeated except in the images conjured in our memory when review their thoughts about what struck them as important or interesting or encouraging about their visit.

As I realized that, I started to find my gratitude increasing for the wonderful gift God gave us when He created us capable of forming memories. In pondering what a remarkable gift that is, I recalled a slip of paper that I repeatedly come upon unexpectedly that my mother had written on. That in itself makes me smile, since my mother is no longer physically with us, I'm grateful for my memories of her. This is a tiny torn scrap of paper perhaps two inches high by five inches wide with her writing scrawled on it. I don't recall when she wrote it or why, but it was important enough to me when I received it that I have kept it for over a decade. On that slip of paper was written the quote, "God gives us memories so that we may have roses in winter." Just seeing her writing gives me a rose, and makes me smile as I remember times shared together. Just like when I read the thoughts contained by prior guests in our guestbook. Each one another special rose that together make a fragrant bouquet for those winter seasons in our lives.

So next time you visit us, or anyone who happens to have a guest book, I'd encourage you to take a few minutes to share of yourself...it's a small, free way of sending someone a rose in winter.

Merry...Wedding!?

Aaaah. The week after Christmas, before a brand new year begins. It seems that just about anyone I saw or spoke to this week I'd ask "How was your Christmas?" followed by, "Are you ready for the New Year?"

The responses were varied, although all were positive. "It was great, how about yours?" "We really enjoyed it." "Couldn't have been better, and yours?" I did occasionally hear the anecdotal "...but I'm glad it's over!" or "It's been wonderful...but I'm not looking forward to those bills next month!"

Sometime along the way I started thinking, at times, Christmas seems much like a wedding.

This year I wasn't as prepared and organized as usual in my Christmas preparations. I usually have the decorating all thought out in my mind's eye, and the Christmas cards are ready for the season. I usually have accumulated ideas throughout the year of what I'd like to give people, and for that matter, have most of my shopping finished before all the sales even start. Some years I even get a jump start on the wrapping. I usually start my baking and freezing weeks in advance, and have my holiday meal plan for company visits drafted and a grocery list started. But it wasn't at all like that this year. I can't say I was any busier than usual. If you know anything about me, it's that I'm ALWAYS busy. Life doesn't slow down one bit for me. I was busy with a few additional commitments like professional conferences that presented themselves a little too close to the winter holidays for my comfort, but not so out of the ordinary that I can blame it all on that. I'm not sure what happened this year, but being out of sync in my holiday preparation certainly left me feeling ill at ease. Almost daily I found myself thinking about how much I still needed to get done. And every time I ticked something off my list, it seemed like three more things were added.

A month before Christmas an employee got married. As we'd inquire as to "how are the plans going?" we often heard a similar sentiment, "There is so much left to do, I just keep thinking of more things that have to get done." So much goes into the planning and preparation for a wedding (and for Christmas):
-The gift registry (just like the Christmas wish list?),
-the bridal shower (holiday festivities to attend),
-the invitations (the office Christmas party invitations, inviting the relatives to come visit for the holidays, mailing Christmas cards),
-the photographer (Christmas card photos),
-the flowers (delivering the holiday poinsettias to referral sources),
-the wedding favors (Christmas gifts),
-the gown and tux (Christmas service attire),
-the vows (New Years' resolutions),
-the reception (holiday menus, grocery shopping, baking, cooking...and let's not forget the dishes)

So many little details to decide and implement, so much anticipation, so many worries and fears (will Santa come this year?) leading up to one very busy but exciting and joyous day. At that point, whatever didn't get done and won't get done, really doesn't matter. And then suddenly, just like that, it's over (with the bills that may drag on for a long time to come).

And hopefully, you are left with beautiful memories of a season filled with love and relationship. Enjoy the honeymoon!

Unlikely Souvenirs

This was one trip I was totally unprepared for. No packing list. No suitcases out a week in advance. No researching excursions. For that matter, no idea where I was going aside from a plane headed to Ft. Lauderdale to a cruise ship to head out to sea. People asked, "Where are you going?" "What ports will you see?" My answer shocked them all, "I have NO idea." In the months before, I had been working 20 hour days, amidst what seemed like one monumental change or challenge after another, and I was exhausted. I was going to blend into the crowd, to silently learn what I could, and in any spare time, work on my tan with a good book.

Besides the leaders and spouses, there were five of us. FIVE. Five conference registrants. I wouldn't blend into the crowd. There was no crowd. Anything I said would be heard. Anything I did would be noticed. Sure, I speak to people everyday in my office, where I am the identified expert. And yes, I get asked to speak to groups occasionally. But for me, admittedly the shyest person I know, this was the ultimate challenge. Risking the chance that the "real me," the "normal, everyday person, me" who is not so confident, and who has been beaten down through the years, would be criticized or rejected. I had prayed about attending. God had provided. Now I was wondering why. I believed through faith, that God was preparing to do a mighty work. Perhaps in me, or in my office. I wasn't sure, but I knew it must be true or Satan wouldn't be trying so hard to make life difficult, trying, and exhausting.

Over the week, and in-between the seasonal Caribbean showers, I slowly let my guard down. The wall that the years had built to protect myself from rejection and hurt slowly crumbled. I started to become more comfortable. And I was learning so much that it made me thirst for more. My excitement soared. My husband could sense a change in me.

Our second to last day together as a group of five sharing the same passion, I had a chance to sit and talk with our mentor for the week. I had jumped through hoops to prepare for those few minutes. I found a way to secure a hard copy of some of my prior scribblings. Yet in those few minutes, we never looked at what I had written. He started instead with a question, "Tell me about you. What do you see yourself doing with your novel?"

I had only a blink's worth of time to decide. Was I going to get real, get serious, be authentic? Yes. I owed it to myself, to my supportive husband, to God who had lit the match inside my heart. I didn't care about the novel I had started. That was on a lark, just a mental exercise, to stretch myself. What I was passionate about was reaching hurting people and offering hope. Because of my knowledge, I could educate and comfort where their knowledge was limited.

As we chatted, he became more enthusiastic, excited even. "What about this....?" "You could do this..." "And then there is this..." His excitement made my heart's flicker burst into flame. Was he implying that I had something important to contribute through my writing? "I think you've really got something here!" he claimed. "You've got to go for it!"

I hadn't felt that encouraged in years. I was usually the encourager, the person who offered hope and a positive perspective. Yet sometimes it felt like a thankless job. No one called me when things were going well, only in crisis or with a complaint. Then at the end of the day and I returned home as the "normal everyday" wife and mother version of me, there was little encouragement there. I'd get laundry caught up to find socks already in the hamper. I'd unload the dishwasher of clean dishes to find dirty ones in the sink to be loaded. Encouragement had been slim. Yet there, where I hadn't been allowed to blend in, God offered me uncontainable encouragement through the voice of a mentor who only a week before I hadn't known, but whom now I will never forget.

I disembarked in our originating port ready to take on the world, with a renewed enthusiasm to write. There were many other lessons taught that week, but all of them paled in comparison to finding that my life verse was still true: Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Hope and encouragement were my souvenirs.

All is Calm

Silent Night, Holy Night...All is Calm, All is Bright.

Christmas is officially over. It's a touch of bittersweet. The planning, the anticipation, the shopping, the wrapping, the cleaning, the decorating, the wrapping, the grocery shopping, the baking, the wrapping, the cooking, the mailing, the wrapping...the unwrapping, the eating, the unwrapping, the cooking, the unwrapping, cleaning the dishes, the unwrapping, the eating (AGAIN?!), and more unwrapping, the sleeping....

Christmas 2011 has come and gone. Much like a wedding. Soooo much preparation, and it was over so quickly, to be remembered in the photo documentation and the added pounds on the scale.

As I sit here in the wee hours of the morning all is calm, and yes, all is bright. Everyone is asleep, including the little snoring Pomeranian by my side. From where I sit the tree still twinkles, reminding me that Christmas is not quite over until the last decorations are packed safely away. Yanni is playing softly in the background, and bits of paper, ribbon, and bows are scattered around piles of new-found treasure (the one night of the year when I don't let out the cry to "pick up your things.") The stockings have been re-hung by the chimney with care, remembering that St. Nicholas had once been there.

It was a good day, no, it was a wonderful day. Enjoying the smiles from my eight and twelve year old boys to that of my 51 year old husband, to that of my 78 year old father-in-law, all enjoying each others' new toys. As much fun as it was to surprise them all with items longed for and now treasured, I am reminded of what a treasure that first Christmas held.

As a mother of two sons, it isn't a stretch for me to think of how Mary must have felt in the wee hours after she gave birth to the son who is now the reason we celebrate Christmas. Just like me this year, I know she put in months of preparation for the big day. Nine months to be exact. She endured long lines as she and Joseph traveled. She must have been exhausted carrying her load. What a heavy burden she had, as THE Mother for eternity, with a job so big that no-one else could do it yet everyone in THE Family would be depending on her. I wonder if she looked around before her guests (the wisemen, shepherds)arrived and thought of what a mess her surroundings were in that stable. Yet after giving birth to THE Ultimate Gift, I'm sure Mary sat back in those wee hours the next morn, thinking to herself, "Yes, all is now calm, right with the world, and ever so bright!" Mission accomplished. And Mary, from one mother to another, well done you good and faithful servant! I only hope to be as faithful as you were with your Christmas preparation.

What Do You Think of When You Hear the Word Christmas?

When you hear the word “Christmas” what do you think of? Do your thoughts change depending on what time of year you hear that word? In January, do your thoughts go to the excess you spent and the bills that are coming due? In April, do you have fond reminiscent thoughts of time spent with family or church services or relaxing over the last cup of coffee after a satisfying meal? In June, do you have fantastical thoughts of what the next Christmas will be like or do you find yourself thinking about what you’ve already accomplished toward the next Christmas or that you are “already hopelessly behind?” In October, do you think about the family you will see and the long chats you will have or the delighted faces of your children? Or do you have thoughts of how much you have to do in the intervening couple of months? How about what you think of when you hear the word “Christmas” on December 1st? December 23rd?

The other night I was reading one of the books from our Christmas collection. Every year I wrap the 30+ books we have collected about Christmas, holidays and winter, with one book, The Night Before Christmas (check exact title) wrapped in special, distinquishing paper, to signify that is the book to be read on December 24th. This particular night one of my boys had picked and unwrapped The Wild Reindeer by Jan Brett (check exact title), a story about a child in the arctic who was donned with the task of training and staging the reindeer Santa would use on his journey around the world. One of the things I love about Jan Brett books is the artful illustrations. Each side of the page depicts the story line with a hint about what has come before and what is yet to come. Each page is a work of art in its own right. In this book, the side illustrations depict all the work that must be done before Christmas, with a calendar page indicating the date in December, each page counting down until that final day the reindeer are to make their voyage, and all the preparatory tasks are complete for yet another successful holiday. The child, Teeka, learns that the tasks are not as important as the relationships she has with the reindeer who are in her command.

As I read that story to my children, my mind drifted to thoughts of my day earlier at the office. My coworkers and I were discussing our weekend, all we had accomplished, all we had not, and the frustrations that went with both. As it was mid-December, all those tasks had something to do with Christmas. We all lamented in rather vocal agreement about the stress of the weekend…quite contrary to our conversations about weekends past throughout the rest of the year. I remembered my weekend days just the day and two before. I had spent the better part of two days wrapping gifts, packaging gifts to be mailed to friends and family out of state, scouering the internet looking for deals on the remaining items still on my list to buy and give, hurrying to ready the family for The Nutcracker ballet we had tickets to see, all the while entertaining thoughts on my mental “to do” list of all I still had left to do. Sunday evening I was just plain giddy…laughing at the slightest things to the point that one son pointed out, “Mom, I’m just not that funny. You must be exhausted!” Little did he know how true a statement that was…by the end of the evening I was laughing so hard when the laughter suddenly turned to tears without an obvious trigger. I was exhausted, with so much still left to do.

Monday morning I found I hadn’t been alone in my cry. Each of my coworkers also lamented their overly full weekends with some degree of accomplishment, yet a greater degree of regret over all that was still left to be done. I heard comments about the shopping, the wrapping, more shopping, the baking, the productions to be seen, more shopping, the cleaning to be done, the decorating, more shopping (or at this point in the month shopping was replaced by hunting…no more leisurely looking and deciding. It was now a hunt for the kill and conquer of those remaining gifts to be found), the wrapping, the cards to be addressed, and the company to be entertained. If I hadn’t been drained of all energy already from my own crowded weekend, just being a part of that discussion would have exhausted me. I took comfort in knowing that even though I was unaware at the time, I was not alone in my struggle to do more than I could possibly get done and the lingering list that intruded on my thoughts. Yet after reading the holiday reindeer book to my children, the comfort I had felt earlier in the day was replaced by feeling ill at ease.

I revisited the memory of the Christmas production I had seen just days before at our church, "Truthical the Musical." It was a dramatic representation of our lives and all that they encompass throughout our journey to discover truth. Set to Broadway music from musicals of years past, it told the story of a girl, Natalie, who was tired of “playing the role” others had given her to play. She was searching for truth and integrity. She reviewed her life and at first thought that popularity would bring satisfaction, and that in popularity she would be appreciated and respected. Yet she found that dream had brought emptiness and she still felt lonely. It was only when she discovered that God, the ultimate producer, had a starring role for her in the script of her life, written before she was born. God had an open casting call, and only those who chose to be part of His production would find their part. Natalie questioned “what difference could one decision really make?” Yet she found out through her searching that one decision made all the difference between Truth and a lie, as she came to learn that God had given His only son to be born on Christmas to offer us everlasting truth and purpose. While God offered the decision to be made, not everyone chose to accept and receive his gift. As all endearing stories do, Natalie made the decision that would provide the “happily ever after” in her script and for her eternal life.

As my children closed their eyes and gave themselves to the sleep that was calling, I compared and contrasted the purpose of the very first Christmas with the very meager setting and minimal provisions, only those that really mattered, with the Christmas season as I was currently experiencing it. Without the first Christmas when Jesus was born, life would have no meaning, no hopeful opportunities, no purpose, and no everlasting promise. The gifts, the wrapping, the decorating, the cleaning, and all those other activities that fill every waking moment in preparation for a date on the calendar would be devoid (?) of purpose. I had to humbly admit that I had fallen prey to the Hollywood version of the Christmas play, forgetting as Teeka had in the reindeer story that it is relationship that is important. In my crushed spirit, feeling I had failed to accomplish, I had failed to remember the reason we celebrate Christmas, and celebrating was not what I was doing. I was shamefully looking forward to “Christmas being over.” How that must make God weep, for His gift to be disregarded and forgotten. As I looked at the calendar and “counted the days,” I was given a new perspective. And as I thought of the word “Christmas,” I found myself filled with gratitude.

The Sound of Dependence

The Sound of Dependence

It was a strange sound, but a rather endearing sound at that. I looked down to hear the soft whimpering cry of my office mascot…a little 9 pound Pomeranian named Madison. She came to us from a breeder when she was four years old, very timid and meek. The other breeding dogs used to take advantage of her small stature and timid personality, intimidating her away from her food only to help themselves. In the few years since we adopted Madison, she has become much less timid than the early days when she would duck to any sudden noise from an airplane overhead to the dryer bell signaling clothes were ready to be hung or folded. She has been my right side since we got her, although more recently she has become a tad bit more independent. Still loving and still remembering where her nurturing and protection comes from, but a bit more willing to venture out and explore beyond a corner she can’t see.

Madison usually travels with me to the office more days than not, and most clients never know she is there. I have never been overly fond of offices where animals wander, but Madison is different somehow. She is small, quiet, unassuming…never one to jump on people or beg (well, except for with our patient care coordinator up front whose own dogs are her children and she has a propensity to spoil Madison with “Good Girl Treats” as well). She has a little “pod” that she favors in the office, and stays there while I see clients, then she takes a nature break before coming back and hopping into her pod for her afternoon nap while I work on cleaning up the paperwork that was originated with client visits earlier in the day.

This particular afternoon I was at my desk, not four feet from Madison’s “pod.” I was typing up reports and minding my own business when I heard a little whimper. Thinking it was cute but nonspecific, I glanced down at her and asked “What? What do you need?” Her only answer was more whimpering while she looked straight into my eyes. “You just went out, and I gave you your treat. Are you hungry? You aren’t prancing around asking for food like you usually do.” And as I said that, I looked down at her and for the first time realized that her right back leg was in an unusual position, with her paw up in the air like a gymnast holding her stance on the balance beam with legs unsupported but arms bearing the weight. I got down on my hands and knees to pet her petite head, still carrying on a one-way conversation. “Do you have a cramp?” As I gently approached to try massaging her hind quarter I realized the reason for her distress. She must have been scratching only to matt her fur, and proceeded to get her nail stuck in the matted mess, thus leaving her paw suspended. She had created quite a mess and despite her normal streak of independence, was unable to get herself out of this one alone. I too struggled until I was left with no other option than to cut the matt, releasing her paw. She immediately licked my hand before tending to her own “wounds,” then went back to her business of afternoon napping.

I have thought so often about that image burned into my mind of this helpless young creature, in a mess that she could not control nor fix without her mother’s help. She cried out in distress and I heard her. I came running to the rescue to be given a quick “thanks” before she was off doing her own thing again. I was saddened by her distress, yet felt good to be needed, then disappointed when she went her own way again, wishing for just a few more moments of togetherness.

I wonder how often God feels that way with me. I am timid and meek in many things myself, yet at the same time I have a fairly independent nature and will work myself either into a tizzy or half to death, waiting until I have no other option but to ask for help. I then cry out in my distress, waiting for Him to come to my rescue. And when He does, I say a word of thanks before I quickly become preoccupied again by “my own stuff.” Surely then He must be thinking, “I wait here eagerly every day for you to call on my name. I come when you call only to receive a brief acknowledgement before I begin my eagerly wait all over again…How I wish you would grant a little more time in my presence.”

16 But I call to God, and the LORD saves me. 17 Evening, morning and noon I cry out in distress, and he hears my voice. 18 He ransoms me unharmed from the battle waged against me, even though many oppose me. 19 God, who is enthroned forever, will hear them and afflict them-- "Selah" men who never change their ways and have no fear of God. 20 My companion attacks his friends; he violates his covenant. 21 His speech is smooth as butter, yet war is in his heart; his words are more soothing than oil, yet they are drawn swords. 22 Cast your cares on the LORD and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall. 23 But you, O God, will bring down the wicked into the pit of corruption; bloodthirsty and deceitful men will not live out half their days. But as for me, I trust in you. Psalm 22:16-23

Oh Father,
How I get in a hurry with all the tempting activities of life, often forgetting where my priorities should lie. I allow myself to become deceived by the urgency of this call or that, and before I know it, my day is full, I am tired, and you are still waiting to share it with me. Please forgive my blind sightedness, for leaving you out of my “here and now” but rather coming to you only when I need something “now.” Help me to remember that you created man, you created me, for companionship with you and that nothing delights you more. I do love you, and those I love I want to spend time with…I long for more time with you in my day, starting with today.
Amen