Crazy people organize their medicine cabinets late at night after a thirteen-and-a-half hour drive home from a ten day camping vacation.

Yet that is what I did.

Greeted by a less-than-tidy house, faced with mountains of laundry, and the inevitable unpacking and organizing that comes at the end of a family holiday, I kicked into overdrive.

I had twenty-four hours to turn this house around before our regular routine began again. I felt like every cupboard and closet needed to be emptied, sorted through, and re-organized. Every nook and cranny needed to be cleaned. The things of summer needed to be put away and replaced with the fall items. I began to think about the upcoming school schedule - an adjustment to full time for my son entering Grade 1 and my daughter’s first steps into the big scary world of JK. There were busing schedules to figure out, school supplies to purchase, and clothing to be gone through. There was a trailer to clean and get into storage and a business trip looming for my husband the very next day.

And if you read yesterday’s post you know only hours before I vowed not to get caught up in the whirlwind of busyness and instead keep my mind and heart focused on the things above and live life slowly – intentionally. Keep connected to the Father in the midst of the activity of life.

How quickly I forgot. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Forcing myself to abandon the medicine cabinet and go to bed, I determined to tackle all these tasks in the morning.

When I awoke I convinced myself I didn’t have time to spend with God. I got the washing machine humming with the first of many loads and began to tackle my list. I raced all around this house all day long cleaning, organizing, and checking things off one by one.

The list was finished by the time I finally sank into bed that night, but I was physically exhausted. And the state of my mind and heart matched my body. God seemed so far away. It’s like I had held up my hand and insisted I could do it all myself. But …

Apart from Him we can do nothing.

This striving in  me, this pushing, this task-focused mentality causes me to miss Him. The very thing He had taught me during our vacation I had forgotten on the first day back.

Lesson learned the hard way.

But there are new mercies and new grace when the sun touches the horizon again. For that I am so grateful.

What in your life causes you to miss Him? Do you strive and push and get caught up in the ‘captivity of activity’?

There is grace. And He is so willing to patiently teach us again and again.

We saw the sign on our first stop to stretch our legs as we made our way north.

While both kids ran circles around us, jumping over logs and picking up every stick and stone, he and I stopped and stared at the sign.

We agreed it was to be the pace of our time away.

Slow to really enjoy each other. Bending down to their height to look them straight in the eye and really listen to their stories and questions. Holding hands along the beach and stealing kisses when little ones race ahead.

Slow to live life at their pace. Waiting to let them pick up every fourth stone on the beach … and waiting again while they run back to toss every fourth stone into the lake.

Slow to notice the small wonders. Stopping to take note of the way the sun glistens off the surface of the water. Pausing to examine a bright green caterpillar with an orange underbelly crawling across the dirt. Stooping low to watch a colony of ants scurry to and fro.

Slow to see His fingerprints. Giving thanks for evidence of His hand etched in the brilliance of the sunset, the deep azure of the water, the tops of mountains disappearing into the clouds, and the relentless rhythm of waves crashing onto the shore.

Slow to listen to the only Voice that matters. Slowing to clear away the clutter and noise of regular life.

Slow to experience Him. Discovering that all things great and small point to the Creator.

Most of life is lived in hurry. Rushing here and there, pushing ahead, striving to do and finish and accomplish. Always the next thing.

But when we slow we are able to see the beauty of the moment. They way the sun turns the surface of the water to diamonds. The way a certain pebble stands out from the rest. The way her head tilts slightly when she looks up at me with those big blue eyes.

It’s easy to live slowly here:

But what about when our time here is done? How can we bring this pace – this slowness – back to regular life? How can we slow our minds, hearts, and souls even in the midst of the busy and rushing?

How can we life life in a way as to not miss it?

Because this moment is truly all we have. Yesterday is a mere memory. Tomorrow is only a wish. Today – right here and right now – is where we live.

I wonder if one of the secrets lies here:

When we give thanks for what is here and what is now, we are fully present in this moment. We are not filled with regret over yesterday or consumed with anxiety over tomorrow. Thankfulness is one way to bring us back to the present.

Perhaps another way to slow lies here:

Shifting our focus from the endless tasks and the relentless rushing to the things above, immediately slows the soul. Simply looking upward makes the things of this world pale in comparison.

Living intentionally – slowly – as to not miss any of the gifts God gives, does not necessitate an absence of work. Instead slowing down is an attitude of the heart and mind.

I think of all this as we make the thirteen-and-a-half hour drive home to the real world … and I vow not to get caught up in the frantic pace.

Each morning as the sun rises above the horizon, I tip-toe quietly out of the trailer – Bible in hand – and make my way toward the beach.

Waves crash on the shore as I find my place on the bench at the edge of the sand. Steadily they’ve rolled in all night long, their relentless rhythm rocking us to sleep. One after the other. A never-ending motion sustained by Him who holds all of creation together. And now as morning dawns, they continue to break on the shoreline.

I sit and watch and think about how the waves will continue to crash on these shores long after our vacation has ended. As summer fades and the skies of November turn gloomy,  the autumn gales will whip the lake into a frenzy,  and these waves will only grow larger, thundering their arrival on the beach.

Day after day. Night after night.

Until we are back here again – Lord willing – to witness their majesty.

I open my Bible and read of His faithfulness. Just like the waves that do not cease, His faithfulness extends to all generations.

Here in the quiet morning hours, while most campers are still asleep, I meet with my Creator in the midst of His creation.

All of creation shouts His glory and is evidence of His unrelenting faithfulness.

She found them on the beach – two tiny white pebbles that instantly became treasures. Telling me they were special to her, she clutched them tightly in her little fist and carried them back to our campsite.

Then the inevitable happened.

While searching for birch bark to start the campfire – a task given by her Daddy – she lost one of the precious pebbles.

You would think she had lost her best friend. Too many late nights caught up with her, and while walking around the campsite wailing, she picked up every stone she could find in hopes it was her special treasure.

We formed a search party and the four of us spent a good while looking for the tiny white pebble.

When I finally pronounced what we feared – that the stone was indeed lost, she asked with tears streaming down her face, “Can we pray to ask God to help us find it?”

Glancing at my husband, I whispered, “I was hoping she wouldn’t ask that.”

Her faith in a big God who cared about small lost pebbles put my faith to shame. What if we didn’t find it, even after we prayed? What would that do to her faith?

I gathered her in my arms and we sat by the blazing fire and asked God to help us find it. Her crying slowed and with renewed determination we began the search again.

But the lost remained lost.

It was late now – time to call off the search.

“But Mama, we prayed,” she wailed.

 Again I pulled her onto my lap and explained that sometimes God says no, and we don’t always understand why.

She looked straight into my eyes with eyes blue and liquid like the lake and asked, “Did He say no?”

“I think He might have.”

“But He knows where it is,” she protested.

“Yes, He does, but for some reason, He is not showing us where it is.”

Her crying grew louder again.

A hard lesson for a little one. 

A hard lesson for her Mama.

When God says no, I too, often cry and protest and ask why and refuse to accept His answer.

When there is no miracle. When the relationship deteriorates. When forgiveness doesn’t come easy. When circumstances only seems to get worse. When the days of waiting grow longer. When that same ol’ mountain looms dark and large and legs grow weary of climbing.

When God says no, don’t we all feel a little like wailing?

We think we know what is best for us. We know what we want and when we want it. Then God interrupts our well orchestrated plans with a loving ‘no.’ It’s then that dying to self is so … hard.

We must remember …

As I tucked her into her cozy little bed in the trailer she whispered, “Maybe God will show me where it is tomorrow, Mama.”

Maybe child.

But maybe the answer will still be no and tomorrow will begin the hard road of acceptance and trust and calm assurance that He indeed knows best.