[Long post alert.]
Where do I begin?
I went to bed last night entirely overwhelmed – at the state of my home, at the thought of telling my students that I still didn't have a particularly critical set of papers graded, at the extent of my unrelenting weariness, at the knowledge that Jesse's gone for several more days yet, at the soul-crushing daily prospect of dropping off a sobbing boy at day care for the three bazillionth time (an event that leaves me nearly every morning swearing I can't, just can't, do it another time).
I rose in much the same state.
But as I showered, the words to the great hymn "Great is Thy Faithfulness" came unbidden to mind. Haven't sung it in years. (One of my great sadnesses in attending New Holland Nazarene is their exclusive bias toward contemporary music and near abandonment of hymns that hold such meaning to me... But that's another topic.) Despite many years' passage, the verses and refrain, their slightly archaic formulations, were as fresh as ever, and kept tumbling over me, and truly -- I emerged from the shower a different person, in a peaceful, even joyful, frame of mind.
That would be enough in and of itself, yes? The morning rapidly got underway in its typical busy fashion, and an hour later Josiah and I were en route to campus. We had a happy drive, and we trotted into school...still happy. We entered his room, and as usual I commented on what everyone was doing and what activity he'd join. After taking off his coat, he volunteered that he should put his Teddies and paci in his cubbie (he always clings to these comforts until long after I've left). Wow. I was anxious not to throw off this miraculous state of affairs, so I asked to have a quick kiss, and he matter-of-factly asked, "and a hug too?" So after a short but hearty cuddle, we went over to his teachers -- and he left me with a smile and a wave. Un-be-lievable. Dull as a rock, it wasn't until I was walking out into the parking lot that realization and waves of thankfulness began to dawn on me. Great is Thy faithfulness. Morning by morning new mercies I see. Thank you, thank you. Sometimes I (being oh-so-selfish and blind) need these palpable, tangible reminders.
As if that weren't sufficient, the rest of the day saw this pattern repeated more than once. Things I was dreading were resolved in unexpected ways; I stumbled on new solutions to problems I'd been contemplating for weeks; even my duller students seemed engaged in class! :) Okay, maybe that's a stretch. In any case, I won't belabor the point by recounting the entire day's events, save this final example, as it was the "bookend" pair at the end of my day to Josiah's drop-off in the morning:
In characteristic fashion, of course, throughout the day my mind wasn't particularly attuned to the provisions so generously scattered throughout -- I'm a woman on a mission at the office, plowing through as much work as possible, checking jobs off the list, giving lectures, instructing lab assistants, meeting with students, and rarely pausing for reflection of any sort. However, as 4 o'clock approached and I finally was faced with a final, quiet half hour to do a bit of catch up before closing shop, so to speak, my mind turned to the many tasks waiting at home -- made all the less appealing because these days I get sicker and sicker as the day wanes and my weariness mounts. "Drat," was my thought. "We drank the last of the milk this morning." Milk is pretty much all Josiah and I drink right now. (I buy it two gallons at a time every few days. I know, crazy. I'm frightened that we may begin mooing and lowing any day.) Anyhow, it seems so ridiculously minor, but the thought of needing to add a stop for milk, with Josiah, on top of a few other unavoidable tasks before making it home, immediately made me feel utterly and completely done in. It seems even more foolish as I type it, but there it is.
Does God put his thumb to his nose, grin, and blow raspberries at us? Today I've determined the only tenable theological answer is "you bet your buns." Spring break was officially to begin at 4:30 p.m. today, so the psychology department was already very quiet that last little while in my office. At about quarter past four, I looked up to see who was approaching my door. It was the lady who operates the little cafe in my building's atrium, who had wandered all the way down the wing to my open door. "Could you use these?" she asked. "I'm supposed to throw everything out of the fridge since we're closed next week, but I hate to see good things go to waste." And she handed me two beautiful, unopened half gallons of milk, with expiration dates not until April. They were even the same fat content that I buy.
Good grief. I get the message. Call it coincidence if you'd like (although if you say it to my face I'll sweetly tell you to soak your head). I live a life of luxury, frankly, in the top tiniest percentage of humanity. How undeserving of such reassurance and meticulous care. But thank you, thank you.
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my Father.
There is no shadow of turning with Thee.
Thou changest not, Thy compassions -- they fail not.
As Thou hast been, Thou forever will be.
Great is Thy Faithfulness!
Great is Thy Faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see.
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord, unto me.
