These Are the Good Old Times

Before my eyes open, I feel my heart beating quickly. As the thick blanket leaves my body, I don’t feel the coolness of the morning air on my exposed limbs as thoughts of incomplete tasks fill my consciousness. 

“Don’t forget to email Keith about those numbers not adding up.”
“You only have 2 more weeks to balance the books for that proposal last month!”
“Have you responded to Angela about making that connection, cause if you don’t, she’ll be annoyed.”
“Did you remember to empty the lint catcher in the dryer?”

My mind for the past few weeks felt like a whirlpool: thoughts constantly swirling around and around in my head, unable to settle. With the splashing of incomplete thoughts comes the anxiety and stress that seem to build after every rotation they take. Work has been quite hectic the past while and even when I wasn’t working, I felt that my brain sloshed around with uncompleted tasks, not giving my mind a chance to settle.

I felt tired.

Even when work isn’t at the top of my mind, my brain has been conditioned through my constant inner anxiety of not doing enough to plan, to mitigate, to … work. Even though I recognize that work itself is not a bad thing—God Himself has told us to work and how we serve him constantly through our work. Yet, He also speaks often of another essential idea: to abide. 

Like an old tree sitting on top of a hill, this idea is waiting for me to notice it. Presence strong, unhurried, and constant—like an invitation. However, I don’t quite understand what it means. I didn’t grow up in the church and I only learned about this strange idea in my later years. Oftentimes, I’d skip over it, filing the word in my brain under “look up definition later.” However, this invitation is becoming difficult to ignore. I think back to a few days before, when I was sitting on a makeshift seat of thick foam, covered in dust at a climbing gym with two close brothers. How in that moment, amidst the seemingly random topics, I was reminded that this mundane moment was a miracle. That we were all connected to God through Christ, as we had prayed for years for one of the brothers to know Christ, and here he was. 

God challenges me in moments like these to not forget that He is with us, even in the mundane. I think about in John 15, how we are called to abide in Him and witness the amazing fruit that is born. Not of my own doing but His. My duty is to just be with Him. With the busyness of everyday life, the constant demands of work and family, it’s an easy default to do instead of to be. And being with is such a key element of this that often falls to the bottom of my jumbled backpack of life. It’s easier to do, to try and check off another thing off the list and feel like I’m contributing to my life in some way. 

Before I get out of bed, I look back and see my wife sleeping peacefully. Her hair partially covers her face as her body rises slowly as she is breathing in a gentle dream. She looks elegant even when most of us feel our least presentable in sleep. Outside the bedroom, I hear a soft scraping of metal against metal, signaling for me that my dog has heard my stirring and is eager to say hello from his crate. As my legs drape over the side of the bed, heels resting on the wooden frame, I let my body sit idle for a moment longer and I start to feel the cold air surrounding me. The image of my dog pushing against his crate shifts to me walking a few more steps to the room of my 18-month-old daughter. How, as I open that door, I’ll see this huge smile as she sees me. Her baby hairs thin and framing her face in a way that accentuates her big eyes, round face and genuine smile. A combination that makes me want to scoop her up in my arms immediately. I feel the edge of my lips move slightly upward as a light smile forms on my face.

I want to remain with this image longer and rest in it. 

Back on the side of my bed, my heart starts to beat slower as my breaths become longer and deeper. I start to feel the solid wood under my feet as I shift my weight slightly. A thought enters my brain in a slow and soft voice, “this is what you’ve dreamed of for so many years. A family to love and that loves me”. My mind pauses. I feel my chest rise as air fills my lungs fully.  As if on cue, an old song enters my head:

Maybe these are the moments
Maybe I've been missin' what it's about
Been scared of the future, thinkin' about the past
While missin' out on now

In the everyday busyness and demands, these obvious truths rarely ever cross my mind. I am naturally inclined to see life through a lens of anxiety and melancholy rather than abiding in the blessings that surround me daily. I forget about the right now as I focus on a scary future. Most days require intentional effort to recognize that my current life isn’t always a mess. I tend to put a magnifying glass on the hard parts, leaving little room to see anything else. I forget that I don’t have to do anything, but that God has called me to just be.

The chorus of the song begins to crescendo in my head: 

I wish somebody would have told me, babe
Someday, these will be the good old days
All the love you won't forget
And all these reckless nights you won't regret
Someday soon, your whole life's gonna change
You'll miss the magic of these good old days

Thinking to the future when my daughter no longer needs me to rescue her from her crib, my dog too old to run over excitedly when he bursts out of his crate, an empty side of the bed beside me. There will be a last time for each of these moments. 

My hands that were resting on my lap slowly turn. The palms facing heaven. Simultaneously, my head lowers as the song fades and any shouts of what is left undone disappear. Instead, a whisper is heard: “Thank you, God, for all these blessings in my life. What have I done to deserve this?” And maybe that’s it: it’s not that I’ve done anything to earn these blessings, but it was God’s gift. Just like the gift of salvation. I reflect on the gospel message and remember that it wasn’t anything I’ve done, but what God has done. Even in these moments of everyday life. When there is peace (or even when there is chaos), it is still a tremendous gift from God. This moment, as I feel my chest sink back in as the air leaves my mouth, is a gift. This moment of abiding in God is a gift. Right now, these are the good old days. 

Placing a foot down onto the cold wooden floorboard, I start my day—ready to appreciate every moment of it.

Text: Kan Cheung
Photography: Joel Faber