Deconstructing A Perfect Day: What Remains

I had a near-perfect day today with the kids. If you live in North Texas, you know the weather today was delicious. It was slightly cool in the morning, when I headed to Fort Worth to drop Mike off and walk in the Juvenile Diabetes Fundraising Walk for my sweet niece, Ava, who was diagnosed at four years old last year. We missed the walk, because, in typical my style, I didn't get any info and just headed off to Trinity Park, somewhere off University. But, even the tardiness and being lost didn't assail my happy attitude to be out on such a great day. While we were waiting for the walkers to finish, I took my kiddos to the park that was there, and underneath a massive Bur Oak whose diameter was larger than my arms, I swang Jack and Molly in the kiddy swings. The sky was so blue, and the sunlight zig zagged its way through the scrawny-looking Bur Oak limbs. (Bur Oaks are very round, and have small limbs in comparison). Every time Molly or Jack would swing out, they would catch a glint of the golden sun, and it illuminated their face. It was peaceful, and they were in good moods. A perfect, uneventful day that I want to burn into my memory. And, as I try, God has been urging me to look beyond the beauty of the park, the joy of my children, the security of a loving family and enough, to find him. So, I am deconstructing the day. The first thing I will take away is the Bur Oak. I am jealous of its sheer size, and wish I could transplant it in my back yard, where my three year trees grow quickly, but still are saplings by comparison. In the picture in my mind, I delete the tree. The Trinity River, quietly snaking through Fort Worth is next to go. Other mothers, who I know, are dealing with a horrible diagnosis, and their sweet darling children, I also delete, but not before I pray for them. I delete the park, the swings, the weather and the blue sky that looks like its light blue color should be a fact, something that will never go away. But, we know (as Christians) that the sky is created. God made it, but, it must go, too, to work on my deconstructed day. What do I have left? My family, whom God has richly blessed me with. The family I pray every night that God will link me to for innumerable days. The beautiful daughter whose distant future weddingI beg God to allow me to see. The son, strong and healthy, who has grown much like the bur oak, the slight changes on a day to day basis ending up pointing to a transformation that is stunning. However strange it sounds, though, children are not the only way God defines me. It is one way, but not the only way. He sees me as his created, and not only a mother, so ever so gently, I allow their beloved and sweet faces to fade away. With no sunlight, no husband, whom I adore, but he is at work anyhow, and is only by most loving association a part of this memory. It is just me, my physical self, my much hated thighs and slightly forming crows feet. I plan to delete my body, which, although it should be comforting, this shell I've lived in for 33 years often feels more like home than it should. Reluctantly, I delete my body. It is just me and my Lord now. And, this stripping down has caused me to reach for some leaves to hide my naked soul. I see, in the middle of this meditation, my Lord smiling at me. He, the great giver and lover of my soul, and me. I want you to know that although the sun and sky are gone,with just God and I, my soul is bathed in light. It is a thought that supplies great comfort. I once read in the paper a story of a man who lost his whole family in a car crash. In my mind, I wondered how he could still believe, and what his life was like. I will never (hopefully) be able to imagine what that stripping of identity by proxy would be like. However, through this memory deconstruction, I can imagine that my identity does not live in a perfect day spent with my family (a day I am thankful for), nor my sweet husband of 11 years, nor my passion for English literature, nor my job as a part time teacher, but my identity lies in my heavenly father, and his son, who saved me from the great abyss, the great nothing. When I deconstruct my day, and by subtraction take everything God has given me away, I am still God's child. No one, not a person, nor a spirit, nor death, nor life, can take away the promise I have because I am a daugther of God, and a sister of Jesus, because of Jesus. In the middle of my perfect day, it is a good thing to remember. And, slowly, my life comes back into focus, one layer at a time. I can see Jack and Molly (and breathe a sigh of relief), the beautiful park, the children, and of course, the great Bur Oak that gives us splotchy shade from the sun. Because I know who I am, I can be more thankful for the amazing gifts my God has lavished upon me.