Holding with Two Hands

Let me try and set the scene:

Two days into gloriously warm and overdue spring weather.

My baby girl in a sleeveless baby pink and white romper with grey bandana

bib to match.

Late late afternoon as we waited for “Dad” to come home from work.

We had just listened to music and swayed in front of a mirror when I noticed

the rain drops on the back deck.

We headed to the front porch and sat on the wicker bench seat and waited.

Two trees in view, one covered with white baby blossoms just beginning to

bloom; the other the sweeping magnificent Magnolia, one of the largest I have

ever seen.

And the thunder slowly rolling as my baby girl babbled and blinked wide-eyed

and alert, but blissfully calm and at peace.

Soft wind blowing, light rain falling, and a baby’s soft skin glowing against the

prettiest backdrop of spring…

It sounds almost like a movie, at least that’s how it felt to me. Spring little storm and the quietest of moments, just a mother and daughter, happy as can be.

But that is exactly when this little thought entered my head:

“Wow, this is perfect, where’s my phone, I should try to get this! Oh man, it is inside somewhere, should I try and go find it?”

Really?

Perfect means a phone is needed?

Since when is that?

How telling is that?

I bristled at the realization it was an automatic response. I faced my own ridiculousness.

I knew the picture I wanted was not ultimately for me, but for the me I wanted to present for the “world” to see.

It really was pretty convicting. I had actually noticed my mind pulling away from those twinkling blue eyes as it mentally scanned the house trying to remember a phone’s location. I could actually hear that sneaky little voice telling me in some way I was missing an opportunity to put something extra special out for others to see.

So I challenged it:

If I do not share it, have I really missed an opportunity?

Is this moment’s worth somehow less than what it could be?

Is there less value if I am the only one who ever will know its existence?

We know we should probably answer no, but my suspicion is we often act as though it’s yes, perhaps even unknowingly.

Thank goodness the desire to just sit and soak it in, all the wonder of that moment, overruled the desire to disrupt it and attempt to go find… a phone.

Thank the Lord I had so been enjoying my time with my daughter that I had lost track of my phone in the first place. Otherwise holding a baby girl with two hands and full attention would have turned into a fixation on the right angle, the right snapshot, and that moment would have dissipated.

So I sat and replaced all the hogwash of “this would be such a perfect poignant post” with the conscious thought that “these are the good days, enjoy them, take them in; these are the good days, hold them with two hands”.

And as I stayed put, I slowed down. In the stillness, I was satisfied. It was clear; no picture could ever capture the view in front of me. So instead I let it wash over and sink way down deep. I captured the gift of that moment, intended for me.

I know we can easily become numb to the discussion about social media’s influence on our minds, our hearts, our lives. In fact, the point of me writing this is less about social media and more about me.

I tend to want to think that I am not too affected; that the world, the culture and constant influences of what is “normal” around me do not have too much power. I like to believe that I am aware and actively fighting it all. And while I may be somewhat aware, I am blinded if I think I am immune.

Because the truth is I could name specific people whose pages are an array of clean and bright photos with all consistent color tones, the ones with the witty captions, the seemingly effortless poignant posts. And while each of those are genuinely beautiful gifts unveiled and God-given talents shared, I am still capable of twisting them into a crooked and overused measuring stick for myself.

Then that page with bright white lighting reminds me how mine looks so much less than… so much less aesthetically appealing… so amateur and wanting.

Then those witty captions are suddenly reminders of how succinct and humorous I want to be.

Then somehow I find myself acting like glorious moments of wonder need to be captured, cropped and captioned in order to be redeemed.

Why do I do that? Why is it so easy?

I have a heart wired for awe, yet it too often gets sucked back down, redirecting its focus onto people and things. When something beautiful catches my eye or makes that moment in time freeze, I can easily forget to finish by looking up in praise.

As Paul Tripp says, “Why do we go back again and again when those things not only fail to deliver what we seek but actually hurt us? You don’t get the rest, peace, hope, or life that you’re seeking. What you get is temporary retreat or pleasure or buzz, so you have to go back again and again. Each time, you need a little more, and before long, you are enslaved.”

He continues, “And because the creation has no ability to satisfy your heart, you will look again and again, acquiring more and more but never achieving contentment of heart.”

There it is… contentment of heart.

That moment on the front porch was a tiny but satisfying victory because I resisted the temptation to believe somehow sharing a high point with others could bring a feeling of extra contentment to that scene.

I chose to just thank God for the gift and rest in the contentment He alone brings.

I chose to believe that just Him, my daughter and me, were more than enough to validate the awe and wonder that moments like that bring.

#comparison #thankfulness #beauty #praise