Sorry, I Can't Come

 Sorry, I can't indulge this anxiety right now. I would, but today started with a sunrise that turned the whole earth orange, blanketing  the morning with a winsome warmness that drew me out of bed and toward the sky. Then, I stepped outside to see that my plants were in fact growing, and I remembered, so am I. The fear of tomorrow that might have crept in was interrupted by morning glories, both in sky and flower form, and I'm going to have to postpone that indulgence.

And sorry, I can't give way to my self-pity right now. There is deep sadness that abounds, that is certain. Life is hard and grief is as sure as the passing of time, but there is also hope that lasts for the long haul. Errorless Scriptures about a risen savior. There is a comforting truth, deeper than the grief, that a good life was not promised but a great eternity will be. The deep pains of a fallen world might come back, and there will be time to wail, but the hope is talking louder today and I think I'll burrow there. 

I'm sorry I won't be at busyness today. It's a tempting offer, of course. Rush through quiet time so I can squeeze in two coffee dates, a work call, a workout, church meetings, business trip, sports. Many times I'd take you up on it. But a slow trail walk is summoning me. Extra time in the Psalms. A chat with the mailman. I would, if I didn't have to stop and smell the roses, and I mean really smell them. If I weren't going to be stopping to listen to the lady playing piano in the lobby, I'd probably be there. But I will not be there today.

Sorry, I can't come to the comparison game today. On another day, I might, but the conversation with a suffering neighbor went a little long, and it was exactly where I was supposed to be. The potholed parking lot below my apartment is not the house that girl on Instagram just bought, but it's here and it's home, and had any other condition been better than this one, divine love would have put me there. A perfect-bodied beach photoshoot is the path for some, but for me, it's watching red lines form on forearms while carrying groceries up the stairs, ten minutes to work and back, waving to apartment neighbors in lawn chairs. No time for comparison; there is far too much contentment to find here.

And lastly, sorry I won't be able to make it to anger today. Some day soon, I'm sure I'll go there. But a praise song about a deer is humming in my mind, while hot coffee pours from the pot and a bird sings outside. There is time to rage over injustice but that's seldom the anger I choose - I tend to go for the petty stuff. The fury at traffic jams or slow computers. The curses I whisper about a teenager taking too long at the squat rack. Today, I think I'll celebrate his weightlifting progress. I'll know there are times I've dwindled there too. I'll choose to fixate on that which is good and glorious, remembering I was declared righteous by a slow-to-anger Savior who endured the cross for me while I was his enemy. Anger will simply have to wait as well. 

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