I wrote this on the third day. The third day of this new year – and here it is – already the sixteenth.
And I’m learning to rise… eyes open a little more with each sunrise…
It’s the third day. He rose on the third day.
It makes me think that maybe I should rise, too.
It makes me think that maybe I should have risen earlier this morning.
Maybe I should follow through with the P90X re-do I have promised myself.
Maybe I should have cooked eggs and bacon – their favorites – instead of cereal… again. Maybe I should finish putting away the Christmas decorations, even though I feel like I am closing another book – and the books that are left in this life are getting fewer.
Maybe I should clean the den, sprinkled with cheese hardened on a coffee table – left by tiny hands.
Maybe I should wash another load filled with messes of memories from the day and the week before.
Maybe I should fold the piles strewn across the love seat – piles that are preferred for climbing much more than folding.
Maybe I should clean the dishes from yet another storm of grilled cheese, pancakes, and mac ‘n cheese.
Maybe I should take out the brimming trash or ask my 12-year-old to do it. Then I see him head out the front door with a grin – there’s nothing quite like 12-year-old buddies. And I remember being 12, and 22, and 32, and 42…
Maybe I should clean the bedrooms, or vacuum – though it scares the baby – and maybe she doesn’t hear the vacuum quite enough…
It’s the third day and I’ve come to know that the third day becomes the third month in a flash. Then the tenth – and before we know it, it’s another year.
One more chapter – another book closes.
It’s the third day and I wonder why I freeze in time and turn around – trying to hold to the second day, and the first…
It’s the third day and I remember He rose on the third day.
Maybe it’s time to rise. Not to fill the list of to-do’s, the I-need-to’s, the we-really-ought-to’s. Maybe it’s just time to wake up and see that every day brings in the new. The new that is born from yesterday’s new.
Maybe I should just remember that He rose. Whether it’s the third day, or the last.
There is always a new one to follow. Just because He rose.
The books that have closed are just part of an endless series. Endless.
Maybe if we just remember that, we will wake with new eyes – a new hope.
This day, and every day after this one, is just the beginning…
Alexander Graham Bell said it well,
When one door closes, another opens; but we often look so long and regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the one that has opened for us.
Maybe it is just because of the third day that we have open doors.
Maybe we just have to rise.
And it’s now the sixteenth day.
And I’ve since begun to rise a little bit earlier.
I’ve started the exercise re-do I promised myself… after all, the new P90X3 is only 30 minutes – surely I can find thirty minutes.
And I’ve cooked eggs, but not the bacon.
I’ve cleaned the messes left by tiny hands, but you wouldn’t know it.
The laundry has since been washed and worn, and has returned to rest in the pile of dirties.
The vacuum has once again scared the baby, though she’s starting to sort of like it.
Christmas has been put away and the book has been closed.
The new chapter is open – and it includes three tooth fairy visits since the third day – and the tooth fairy is going broke.
The door is open and the sunlight streams in. The rising sun beckons.
The risen Son holds true to His promises, and with bent knees the day brings new life.
And, maybe every day should be the third day…
Lamentations 3:22-24
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, “The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”