THE COMMUTE

We live on the edge of town. If I time my walk right, I can witness the sun setting over fields without the obstruction of roof tops.

Last night I soaked in the blazing colors of red, yellow and orange in one part of the sky while the moon was already visible on the other side of the still-blue sky. I walked far enough that I could see car headlights stream over the hill as commuters made their way home from work.

I’ve been retired for a year. I remember leaving and coming home in the dark. If I had an early shift, I could sometimes catch the last rays of daylight, but often I was on auto-pilot. Hundreds—maybe thousands?—of days I made the same trip. I tried to be mindful of sunrises and sunsets, and I'd spend time with God, reciting Scripture, praying and trying to listen for His voice. But often I’d be thinking of what I had to do. After work I needed to stop at the store, pick up kids from practice, make dinner, go to a choir concert, take out the trash.

Often, the question is posed what would you do if you knew this was your last day on earth. Truthfully, you might not do anything different. You’d wake up in the morning, drink coffee, pray, go about your daily tasks, and get ready for bed at night. But, I can guarantee you’d notice everything about that day.

The sun rising and setting and the blanket of stars at night. The voices of kids playing in the street and the sound of farmers in the fields harvesting fall crops. Every I-love-you and hug exchanged with kids and grandchildren. A good cup of coffee. Conversations with friends. The sense that God is with you and you will soon be in His presence forever.

As Christians, we seem to get the idea that we should be doing something more. That what we’re doing isn’t enough. You know what? It’s not about the doing. It’s about being. Being mindful of His presence throughout every day. He is with us, right here, right now, even in the mundane. And, in the end, none of it's mundane.