One look at my current to-do list would tell you a tale of changing seasons in my family’s life. And it’s not just the mile-long section of tasks to complete before my husband’s six month deployment. It’s the note to remind my oldest daughter to get that scholarship application in before the deadline. It’s grading another daughter’s highschool biology labs and English essays. It’s figuring out where to fit the facts of life into next year’s homeschool schedule for another child.
We are a far cry from nursery rhymes and afternoon naps these days. My, how things have changed. How every thing has changed.
Even when they were small, I would tell myself not to wish those little years away. I tried to treasure them, knowing they were fleeting, but having no real idea of how fast they would fly. Now, preparing to settle the first fledgling from our nest into a university dorm in September, I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ll blink and the next one will be flapping her wings too…and then the next and the next.
The transition from a young mother to a middle-aged mom of teens happened so fast yet so imperceptibly. It’s not until I see a young mom at the outset of her journey that I realize how far down that road I actually am. And the irony of it is that it happened without me even knowing I was making any headway at all. Now I look back and marvel at the ground we’ve covered…and wonder if I’ve done enough to make those steps count.
But I’m not spending all of my time these days looking backward. I’m also becoming aware of the steps ahead, curious about where they will lead. I read a book not long ago called The Wonder Years. And, no, it had nothing to do with coming of age or my house full of teenagers. It was a collection of essays by women, for women in the latter half of life. Those years can be filled with wonder too — wondering what you’re going to do with the rest of your life.
I’m guessing the next season will fly by just as quickly as the last one, if not faster. But I am determined to be more perceptive, to notice the steps I’m taking and the direction I’m heading. To look a little deeper at my to-do list, and instead of seeing each item as a duty to trudge through, I’d like to learn to listen to the story it’s telling and the changes it’s documenting.
I’ve been reading through the book of Ecclesiastes this week, a book I seem to find more relatable as I age. What struck me today were Solomon’s observations on work and the reasons and the ways people approach their tasks and to-dos. He saw some who worked out of envy for others. He observed people toiling alone, having no one with whom to share their wealth. He noticed that the love of money is insatiable; no matter how much you obtain, you’ll never be satisfied with it. He noted the grievousness of wealth that is either hoarded or lost. He said toiling for wealth was like toiling for the wind. It breeds frustration and affliction and anger. Then, like much else in this little book, he summed it all up in one word — “meaningless.”
But then he contrasted this meaninglessness with what he called “good” — that is, the person who can eat and drink and work with satisfaction, one who has the ability to enjoy God’s gifts and to accept their lot in life with a glad heart.
My to-do list may be long. It may overwhelm me at times. But I don’t want to lose sight of the good it holds and the people I get to share these tasks, this life, with. It’s more than just a practical reflection of my priorities and commitments; my to-do list is also an ever-evolving reason to give thanks. In some ways, I suppose it’s not much different than a prayer list. Perhaps that’s what I need to make it, if I want these “few days of life God has given” to matter (Ecclesiastes 5:18), if I want to move beyond spending my life and energy on what is “meaningless” to what is “good” and eternal.
Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans.
Proverbs 16:3 (NIV)
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