It was a cool, clear October morning in 1981. My brother and I lugged what felt like a 2,000 pound steel canoe down the embankment, studded with the above-ground roots of hardwood trees that had probably been guarding that part of the creek for decades. They had stubbornly held on through many storms and floods, dedicated to the job of just living. He in the front, and I in the back, we as gently as possible lowered the canoe into the water, stepped in, and pushed off. Just the two of us, skimming along under the ancient railroad bridge and down the 10-mile trek to Goose Shoals. He was just out of college and I wasn’t far behind, and today was no special day. And yet it is one of those days that reminds me that of all the days in your life, the most important one is Right Now.
It was just a brother taking his little sister along for a day-long float down the creek, meandering along the shady stretch from Tennessee into Alabama. Not much paddling required, but I do remember a lot of dodging of tree limbs and brush and rocky shoals, and a lot of teamwork. A 2,000 pound canoe, it turns out, doesn’t turn on a dime. We didn’t set out to make a memory that day, and in fact he might not even remember it at all, but the tagalong little sister sure does.
As I booted up the computer to write this piece, the first headline to appear on my screen was the sad details of a 150-passenger Ethiopian plane that had crashed, killing everyone. And just last Sunday, 23 people in South Alabama were going about their day, probably planning their week, when a killer tornado randomly wiped out all those plans in an instant. Days that begin on an even keel can go sideways in an instant, but most don’t. In fact, most go by without much ado, and I’m actually very thankful for that. Still, I’m reminded that the most important day of the week is Right Now because it’s all that we have.
I saw a home fixer-upper piece that featured a bathroom redo and I’m inspired. The designer had lettered “One Step at a Time” on the wall of the shower as an important reminder for the showerer. I know exactly what I intend to letter on mine. Seriously. It will be “Give Us Today.”
Those of us who recite the Lord’s Prayer in church pretty much fly right by that text in the rush for fried chicken dinner or naps, and that’s OK, as long as we realize that right here and right now is life. It’s going on right in front of our eyes, day by day and minute by minute. Give us today.
No matter the circumstances, each morning that God decides to wake us up is a gift. It lands smack dab in the middle of our laps; I imagine it as a little square foil-lined box with a really big gold bow that we get to unwrap and dig around in. It’s never a certainty that we’ll get another so we sure as heck better appreciate this one. And personally, I think a bit of joy is the best way to begin that.
The world is definitely a scary and not so nice place. But just when I’ve come to that solid conclusion, the bearded guy in the farm pickup truck blowing his horn behind me swings around and rolls his window down to report that my taillight is out so maybe I’d better get that fixed. Sheepishly, I thank him, glad he couldn’t read my mind earlier. Right Now and Right Here is the best place to be.
It might not be Pooh’s Hundred Acre Wood, but it helps to go there every now and then to reorient an attitude. Or you might choose Main Street in Mayberry or even a favorite memory like I did.
“What day is it?”
“It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
“My favorite day,” said Pooh.
Mine too, Pooh. Mine too. Just give us today.
