Sweet Boundaries
I listened to an audiobook devotional recently that talked about the gift of boundaries--those we set for ourselves, but especially those God sets for us. The author talked about the gift of each day, and how each day eventually comes to a close. It was a boundary that was given to us, setting limits on what we have to endure and for how long we endure it before rest.
I've been mulling it over in my mind a lot since then. Not surprisingly, this has been a really challenging season for us in many ways. By evening, Micah and I often feel empty and depleted, with not even an ounce of ourselves left to give. As I drag myself to bed and curl up under the covers, I've been basking in the gift of the closing of a day. I drift off to sleep thanking God for the boundary of day and night.
Jesus referred to our need for these defined spaces when he cautioned us not to worry about tomorrow. Each day has enough worry of its own, which is why we're only given a day at a time.
He taught us to pray for the strength to live the space within that boundary, to pray for our daily bread.
The Psalms talk about how God hems us in behind and before--knowledge that is too great for us. Or, perhaps, wisdom that sustains us.
All of creation exists in a cycle, within the confines of its own boundaries: the ocean and the land; the birds of the air and the fish of the seas; the laws of nature and gravity; the seasons of the year. Everything has an opening and a closing, a set boundary marking its place in existence. It's what keeps us all alive. And it's a gift.
At the closing of the day, when I've had just enough strength to get through it, I get to lay the weight down and set it aside. I can enter deeply into the time of rest--the space allotted to my recovery--and replenish. His mercies are new every morning as I rise to face the next day. But I leave the day before, behind me. And the days to come, ahead of me. I live only in the confines of one day at a time.
In this season, I'm grateful for the sweet gift of boundaries.