The instance in-between

 

How can we live “in the moment”?

I stand in our town’s library, having walked the mile down from my house to return a book. I hadn’t planned on doing anything else here before I return, but I’m suddenly compelled to linger and read something. I’m here now – what’s the rush?

But what to read? Perhaps a poem! I stroll down the aisles to the right section and select a volume by Billy Collins because he a favorite of my son’s. Opening the book, I randomly find – or perhaps am guided to -- The Present. I find a table to sit down and read it.

This poem is so timely (pun intended). As you know, I have been thinking about what it means to be less bound by time, to exist “of the age.” Collins takes a wry look at what it means to “live in the present.” He likens this popular mindset to a new club that everyone wants to visit but no one has directions to.

Then he toys with how fleeting “now” actually is:

The trouble with the present is
that it’s always in a state of vanishing.
Take the second it takes to end
this sentence with a period––already gone.

He then pokes fun at it by slicing it down so thin, it’s the brief, “intervening tick” between hearing a joke and understanding it. (Though I’ve told jokes after which the silence stretched for what felt like ages.)

Just then, I look up to see this lamp between two chairs right in front of me. It startles me, amuses me. Exactly! I think. There is wonder waiting between moments. Living in “the present” doesn’t require, as Collins jokes, “leaping from one second to the next.” It’s adding syncopation: inserting awareness of what lies sandwiched by larger elements of the day.

Jesus, in the Lord’s Prayer, tells us to ask for “daily bread.” (Matt. 6:11) A better translation might be “bread of the moment.” This should train us to find God’s provision throughout our waking hours.

There are just too many moments in the day to live in each one. That’s the satirical point of Collins’ poem. This view from the stairs of the library seems to illustrate this for me. Our days are as jammed as these shelves. Trying to be aware of each second of experience would drive us batty.

But it’s not about the increment. It’s about the in-between. What are the pauses we can take throughout the day? When can we slow down enough to notice God’s provision – of food, of sky, of conversation, of a light between chairs?

Sometimes we need to push apart the heavy furniture of our day just to leave room for God to put a lamp.

Or to choose a poem for us to read.

Lord, we sense that you want us to be aware of your presence and provision throughout the day. But time seems to swallow us up. Help us to find places for pauses.

Reader: How do you add moments of awareness to your day?