Holiday: Day 6

Today we said goodbye to friends.  Holiday friends.

We watched (again) how the last day is “the last day” …

Other friends to say goodbye to – packing to finish – last-minute shopping – waiting for other friends to come by to say goodbye to – the waiting – the thinking – the planning for getting home – meals at home already planned – things to do at home already planned – the waiting – the wishing the holiday was longer – the waiting – the wishing they didn’t have to go home – the waiting – checking little lists of money – of suitcase weight – of shopping done and shopping to do – anyone missed to say goodbye to – anything missed to take home – the waiting.

Struck me how most of us view our last day of holiday like that.  Sometimes worse than that – sometimes better.  Sometimes with less friends – sometimes more.  Sometimes with little baggage – sometimes lots.  But always “the last day” is different.


I keep seeing those who try to interpret “the last days”.  Reading sacred texts to figure out when our last day will be.  Trying (from what I read) to make the calculation of last days to be within their own (and mine) lifetime.  Seems to me generation after generation of believers has done the same.  Generation after generation will.  And yet, in the context of eternity, each of our life-spans is just a two-week holiday.

Yesterday I found myself thinking about our own “going home”  yet to arrive.

And realising how much I like where I am right now.  Realising why I have taught myself to not think of “the last day” each holiday.  That “living in the plans for the future” causes me pain in the present.  That “living in the past two weeks memories” cause me pain in the present.  That we don’t need all that last-minute shopping.  That our loved ones really can manage without the (costed and compared and bargained-down) presents of obligation. That our last day can be as gentle and relaxed as every other.

And realising (again) why we have learned to spend a little extra on the travelling and the waiting to travel. The legroom, the lounge, the extras that make the journey part of the holiday – both ways.

And realising (again) that I actually like our last day because – along with the goodbyes – it is hello to others.  Those we love.  Those who are family.

And then realising again (and again) why to God Soft Hands Jesus I know that each “present moment” is so important – why GSHJ seems only to be in the present – why he and I can do so much – be so much – in the present moment – this moment so rich (if I allow) …

It is devoid of my over-stuffed suitcases of worry, of planning, of regret, of waiting for a better present moment.  That if I let go of all that baggage – this present – THIS moment – is the very best this moment ever can and will be.

And that means (if I allow) –

So am I.



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