Fragile

"Be careful, Mom. It's fragile."

This is what Caleb said to me, in his most serious tone of voice, while helping me crack an egg last week. We were making muffins together, and his comment caught me off guard. First of all, it's amazing to listen to your child's vocabulary develop. ("Fragile?" Really? How did he pick that word up?) I have loved parts and pieces of each stage of development of my children, but it's especially amazing to witness the connections in my son's brain multiply at this tender age of four. The innocence of a child, combined with constant curiosity makes each car ride, each walk to the park, each story book, each moment an opportunity for lots of learning (and continual questions)!

(Side note: This is the boy who last week yelled to me, "Hey Mom! God is on TV!" But, alas, it was only Al Roker on the Today Show, dressed in a bright white suit. To his credit, Al was looking heavenly! But, I digress...)

The comment also stuck with me because FRAGILE is exactly the word I'd use to describe how I've been feeling lately. Not fragile in an over-sentimental, I-might-just-burst-into-tears-at-any-moment way (though, those who know me well know this is always a possibility), but more of an awareness of how fragile this life is.

It's summer and I'm ultra-aware of savoring moments -- of holding onto those tiny moments that I know will fade away like a summer sunset. I know that Josh's tender, ringlet curls may never spiral in the humidity quite the same way come September. I know that Caleb will soon be starting school and won't always want to snuggle up on my lap to have his favorite book read aloud again and again and again. I know that spraying the garden hose won't always be the most entertaining way to spend an afternoon. I know that chasing your brother around the bases of a deserted, overgrown baseball diamond won't always be considered the very best way to spend a dewey morning at the park. I know that the giggles that fill the living room while wrestling with Daddy will eventually lower an octave or two.

In the midst of all the joy of summer and the indulgence of unplanned days stretching out in front of us, I'm also aware of the pain that friends are wading in during these months. And this also makes me aware of the fragility of this world. I think of Sara, a friend from high school, who just lost her husband in a car accident. She is now awaiting the birth of her baby in December and raising her little son without the daily companionship of her best friend. I think of Amanda, a friend from college, whose three year-old son just received the diagnosis of leukemia. And now, the summer plans of trips to the zoo and running through the sprinkler have been replaced with chemotherapy treatments, needles, and prayers, prayers, and more prayers. (By the way, stop reading this, and say a little prayer for both of them, will you?)

As I mentioned, I'm journeying through the New Testament this summer and with each chapter, really with nearly every verse, I'm so deeply aware of how far I have to go, how much work God has yet to do on my heart and on my attitude. And I'm aware that this world should seem fragile -- I should be deeply aware that this world is not the end of the story, that we were never meant to hold on too tightly, but to know that we're here for just a sliver of time, in order to be a reflection of Jesus' love and grace -- whatever that looks like from moment to moment. I know -- it's easy to say, but sooooo very hard to live out. That love and grace stuff -- that takes some serious energy and dependence on the Holy Spirit, because I just can't do it on my own.

I'm studying Acts right now and so acutely aware that the Apostle Paul was a master of priorities. He was a man who knew what mattered, and understood how to live in the peace of the future, even in the midst of the uncertainty of the present. Ridiculed and beaten, Paul was able to say, "I consider my life worth nothing to me, if only I may finish the race and complete the task the Lord Jesus has given me -- the task of testifying to the gospel of God's grace." (Acts 20:24)

Realizing how frail our lives are can be scary, as our human nature wants to cling, cling, cling to this world. But, God offers us so much freedom if we can let go, let His will be done, and bask in all the warm reflections of His love and grace.