hoarding happiness

I remember, as a kid, learning how to water ski. 

My grandma, who regularly skied until she was 77 years old, schooled me on skiing's finer points. Crouch in the water. Rope between my legs. Hands holding the handle. Knees bent, skis slightly pointed inward. Give the signal to the boat that we could go. Surge and yank of horsepower. Don't pull the rope, let the rope pull me. Keep my weight slightly forward. Stay within the boat wake. If I wanted to tail left, push more onto my left foot. Go right, lean more on my right foot. 

What my grandma didn't clue me in about, however, was my favorite part. The delicious force of wind in my face; the restful, serene view of the passing shoreline; the soothing, arhythmic beat of the waves thumping under the skis -- THIS is my favorite part of skiing. The sensory revelry. The time on the skis; the act of skiing. It stirs my heart to leap for joy in my chest to ski.

Of course, I gotta keep to the fundamentals of skiing. Skies slightly pointed inward, watching the water, watching for other boats. Watching for when the boat (usually driven by my mischievous older brother) will circle twice and then steer through that wake. This is because my brother loves to see if I can manage skiing through that absurd chop of his stirred-up waves (usually, I fall).

It bothered me that I couldn't fully absorb the thrill of skiing, because I had to work hard to make sure I didn't fall off the skis. "I'm missing the moment!" I'd worriedly berate to myself. It takes a lot of time to fully live in any moment. It starts to feel rushed. I know I'm not taking in as much as I could.

What is this experience for you? What wholesome joy of yours do you fret will slip through your fingers too fast? What good thing tempts your heart to hoard it? 

It's taken time for me to relax about feeling rushed through life's happy times. Most of what motivated my angst was this: I carried an untested belief that a happy time such as this might never come again for me. So I felt like I must maximize how much I treasured THIS happy moment. I had to slow it down, absorb by osmosis as much as possible. I needed to hoard it, seal it in Tupperware, make sure it lasts as long as it can.

But that's folly.

It's possible: the exact same happy time may never come again. Yet different, equally happy, equally glorious moments thump through life at an arhythmic pace. Don't they for you too? A great talk with a friend. A delicious meal. A solid grade on a tough exam. A concert. A time of prayer. 

They show up like a wave to a shore, and then recede right back out. I can't catch the wave and keep it to myself. It'd be folly to try. But another wave always comes in. This helps me refrain from trying to hoard happy times. Like sad times, other happy times will come. I don't know when, or how, or in what way. But they will.

I haven't skied in years. I miss that rush of wind. I would love to feel that pull of a ski rope again. Maybe I will, maybe I won't. If I do, I'll probably feel like it went by too fast. But other joys remain, happy times I've yet to imagine or even know existed. It's the same for you.

Grace and peace to you on this day, dearly beloved--

"I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live ... " -Ecclesiastes 3:9-12