What Matters Most

Ever have one of those reality checks where, in a single moment, you realize how short life is, how precious and limited our time on earth, and how stupid you've been about how you have been spending it? Yeah, me too. In modern parlance, I believe it is best described like this: *facepalm*

I had one such moment last week, as I checked on my son before heading to bed late one night. My Facebook status that night seemed to strike a chord in the heart of many folks on my friends list -- 84 of whom were moved enough to click "like." Clearly, there was some solidarity expressed in response to these words:

Went in one more time to check on my kid before I went to bed --- and just stood there and watched him sleep for a few minutes. He seems somehow taller than he was this morning. This boy is a handful. He is sharp and funny and complicated and moody and tender and talented and way too smart for his own good sometimes... He has the capacity to both infuriate me and melt me into a puddle. He is a part of my heart, walking around outside my body for the past eleven years. He is my miracle -- and yet he isn't "mine" at all. I do not own him; he is on loan to me from God, entrusted to me for an all-too-brief season called childhood. And right now, in this moment, I would humbly ask God to please slow down time...



Sometimes, I still picture him this way in my head . . .

Where has the time gone??

I've been thinking about this since last week -- both my feeling of desperately wanting to slow down the passing of time, and the strong response others had to my sentiments. Both of these things have helped to solidify a commitent I made to myself on January 1st of this year: In 2013, I will do my conscious best to focus on what matters most. I do not believe in setting resolutions because let's face it, we all know what a New Year's Resolution really is: A to-do list for the first week of the year. A set-up for failure -- and for the self-imposed guilt and condemnation that inevitably follows. 

Please . . . Ain't nobody got time for that. 

Instead, this year, I am setting a theme for 2013: Priorities. 

Blame it on a lack of discipline, or a childish wanderlust of the mind, or perhaps the ADD with which I was diagnosed in my teen years -- but the ugly truth of the matter is that I am very easily distracted from my priorities, and I lose sight of what matters most more often than not. I am all too easily led astray by the demands of others (which usually can wait), the allure of gossip (note: in churchy circles, this is often disguised as a "prayer request" on behalf of someone else. Be careful!), or by my obsession of the moment, which is often something as frivolous and temporal and self-focused as the current circumference of my thighs). So what's a distractable gal to do?

Start over.
And over.
And over again.

Well, actually, that's step one. Step two is a little harder:

Forgive yourself.
Again.
And again.

I'm working on it. I'm not necessarily off to a flawless start, but that shouldn't really matter since I've removed "achieve perfection in all things" from my list of priorities for 2013.

So, what does matter most? Good question -- and our answers will vary. But answering that question for ourselves is a great place to start. For me, that night last week when I realized that my baby boy has become a young man in what seemed like the blink of an eye, I knew that one thing that matters to me is enjoying my current assignment in life as Jaden's mom. These years are blazing by -- and while photographs are great at capturing a moment, they cannot freeze time. I quote the great 1980's philosopher Ferris Bueller: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

So, this is me, stopping. This is me, admitting that I'd forgotten to look around. This is me reminding myself: I don't wanna miss a thing.

And this is me hoping you might just stop and do the same.







 

To the Last Virgins Standing: a guest post by author Emily Wierenga

Jena's note: Friends, I could not be more excited to share with you this post today, reprinted by gracious permission of my friend and fellow author, Emily Wierenga. The piece you are about to read is 32-year-old Emily's letter to her sixteen-year-old self. When I read it, it brought me to tears, and I believe it will touch many of you in a similar -- or perhaps entirely different -- way. I will not cheapen it with a lengthy introduction, but rather let Emily's beautiful prose speak for itself; suffice it to say, she is the real deal, and it is my prayer is that her heart, through these words, will make its way through to yours.


Dear sixteen-year-old Emily,

In a few days Brent will dump you. The coolest guy in school. A basketball star. And you will wonder if you should have let him. If you should have pulled the Kleenex from your bra and the bra from your body and let him.

But you didn’t, and I know you feel like the last virgin standing —

but you’re not. In two years you’ll meet a man at Bible School–a place you said you’d never meet anyone because it’s too cliche–who is waiting for you. Who’s only kissed two other girls, who will wait six months to kiss you (his Dutch grandmother will kiss you on your lips before he does) and the only time you’ll ever see him cry will be when you tell him what you’ve done with other boys.

He’ll cry because he wants to marry you. And even though you didn’t ever let anyone make it home, they still tried to round the bases. And he’s waited his whole life to hold your hand.

Shortly after he dumps you, Brent will get another girl pregnant and they’ll have a baby together.

It’s not worth undoing your buttons for, honey.

In a few days your mother will hear you sobbing on your bed, after he breaks up with you in the courtyard of the school because “you’re just too nice,” he’ll say.

She’ll knock on your bedroom door and bring you a bouquet of red roses, and when you take them from her, your fingers will bleed a little, just like your body will on your wedding night, when you give it away to the Bible School boy who dressed up in his army uniform and showed up on your doorstep and asked you to take a walk with him.

The boy who will teach you not to be afraid. The boy who will kiss you, finally, in the rain. The boy who will hold you while you can’t sleep for the insomnia and the anorexia and the anxiety, the boy who will bring you ice chips as you give birth to the first of two sons, the boy who will ask you to take walks with him every day of your life, for the rest of your life, till death do us part.

Dear past self, in a few days you’ll be crying on your bed —

while your mum holds you and you grip a bouquet of bloody roses. But this too shall pass. Don’t remove that purity ring. Because it’s more than a ring. It’s a declaration that you believe in the kind of love that saves. A salvation kind of love. A love that lasts longer than a few dates and a few passionate make-out sessions.

The world has all but given up on that kind of love. And in a few years, your boy and you will share with a bunch of Young Life students about how you waited. And they’ll ask if you wonder what you missed out on, by having sex with only one person.

And you’ll look at them and say, Do you know what you miss by having sex with more than one person? Have you ever wondered what it’s like to know that the person you’re with has only ever seen and touched you? That when they make love with you, they’re only thinking about you, and that you’re beyond compare?

Then you’ll take each other’s hand.

Yes, you will say. We’re glad we waited.

And the students won’t respond, but in their hearts, perhaps they’ll be applauding.

For the last virgins standing.

Love,
Your Future Self, at 32.



(See original post here: http://www.prodigalmagazine.com/last-virgins-standing/)

Emily Wierenga

Emily Wierenga is a wife, mother, artist and the author of Chasing Silhouettes: How to help a Loved One Battling an Eating Disorder, and Mom in the Mirror: Body Image, Beauty and Life After Pregnancy (releasing Mother’s Day 2013). For more info, please visit www.emilywierenga.com. Find her on Twitter or Facebook

This Mystery

I'm a bottle of water
Thrown into the ocean
You're in me, around me, and through

You fill me and hold me
And shape me and mould me
You contain me, yet I contain You

Reveal to me
This mystery
I long to comprehend

How You can be
Inside of me
Savior, Master, Friend