When Melanie had finished pouring my breakfast into my feeding tube this morning I wobbled down the hallway to my office. I carefully stretched to reach the Venetian blinds and open them to let daylight in. I looked at the view, intersected and interrupted by the blinds from top to bottom. I thought, “That has been the year for me.”
There are moments when I have been able to concentrate on what was visible beyond the strips of the blinds. Other times all I could see was those opaque interferences that kept me from the unhindered view of all that used to be available to me. With effort, when I remember, I can choose to focus on one and not the other. But the blinds are there now.
One of my spiritual mentors early on after the stroke told me I would have to learn to live one day at a time. At the time I thought that was a pretty tired old cliche. I have come to see he was exactly right. I have survived the year a day at a time.
Each morning I sing as a vocal exercise. I always include the chorus, “This is the day that the Lord has made. We will rejoice and be glad in it.” I sing it as a reminder to myself.
This is now the year He has made for me and I’m getting ready to start another one. Purposes and plans are beyond me. There are prayers to lift up for friends also suffering with similar and even heavier burdens. And there’s the view that is still visible between the blinds as the day starts.
So I will, somehow, learn to rejoice in it. Let the day’s lessons begin, Lord.