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When, is now.

I'm waiting to hear if we are going to move out of our new home. After only seven months.

I've been waiting for three weeks.

Waiting --

Waiting --

Waiting --

It's Sunday so I won't be hearing today will I. What should I do? I've just put the tomatoes in, my new herb garden is just beginning to thrive, and I've just bought some shrubs for the border once I've removed the overgrown brambles left behind by the previous tenants.

Should I hold off? Should I wait until I hear before I invest any more energy? Any more time?

I glance across the garden. Goodness that border is a mess. And here's the thing:

If I spend my day simply waiting for news that won't come until later, today will go unused. Won't I only have failed to do things?

Failed to embrace the present

Failed to create beauty

Failed to leave a footprint where I am currently, because I'm waiting on "tomorrow"

Today is like a room in a hotel that, if it doesn't get used, will be wasted. The bed was there to be slept in, the towels were fresh, the sheets were clean, the water was hot, the sun came up -- and no one took advantage of it. Those 24 hours will never come round again. They'll have gone.

So the 'when' of my life is only now. The only guaranteed time.

And in front of me is a border to be weeded and a sun that is shining and an afternoon where I'm available. This is the day that the Lord has made. The day I'm in.

I'm not going to wait.

This week, if we find out we don't have to move, my border will be ready to be planted.

And if we find out the Lord is moving us on?

We'll have left beauty behind us for someone else to enjoy. A blank slate.

We'll have left well.

jsg/may 18

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