check it off.

It seems that what keeps pushing each of us through life, the driving force, if you will, are goals. You’ve probably heard this before, and I can’t speak for men and maybe some of you women disagree with me, but I have heard time and time again how women are planning for the next thing. It doesn’t even have to be a big goal, like marriage, family, a job, moving out of your parents’ house, but even the small goals. By the time your head slumps onto your pillow, you have already judged the success of that day by the goals you have accomplished. “Oh, dang, I forgot to wash the car.” “I finished sorting through that huge pile on my desk!” “I finally found an apartment!” “The kids were late to school…again.”

Why do we do that?

Every time I’m sitting in a car and I glance over at the people rushing past the window, I wonder about their lives. What are the goals that they are chasing right now? What’s motivating them to finish that goal? Why did they even choose that to be their goal in the first place? Do they have the right perspective? Do they know who’s chasing them as they are running around checking things off?

I’m not saying that goals are in any way bad. Shoot, I am a planner, I’m a checker-offer, I love to achieve. But it’s easy to lose focus. As we are standing in the check out line at our grocery store that seems to always move slower than the time before, we put our shoulders back and suck in a little as we glance down at the magazines that taunt us. Acting uninterested as we read the cover that says how so-in-so just lost 1,500 pounds and they want you to know how. Then the candy bars glare at the magazines and then at us. So, naturally, feeling bad for the candy, you pick one up; pretending that it’s for your youngster tugging at your fingers to get them the Butterfinger, not the peanut butter M&M’s you just grabbed. Again, another goal thrown out the window. I wonder, as you stand there in that line waiting “patiently” on the older woman with blue tinted hair to put her items on the conveyer belt, if you feel that tap? Not really even a tap. More of a light stroke on your heart. “Oh, my daughter.” You hear the whisper.

“Not now, please. It’s been such a long day.” There are tugs on your fingers again, still wondering why you haven’t heard their Butterfinger request.

Then, even more gently than before, you feel your heart submerge into something familiar as you give into that voice. “You, my beloved, are so precious. Have you heard me today? When you stretched over to turn off your alarm? When you rubbed your temples at work? When you drove home? When you stroked your child’s stomach? When you kissed your husband passionately? When you read my promises? I was whispering. Telling you how dear you are to me and how your value is far greater than the stars. I wish you could fathom my greatness, fathom the love I have for you, fathom the love I have for the beggar you just walked by, fathom my power, fathom my hope, fathom my peace. Oh, my peace. You can have it; it’s all yours, my valued child. Know my rest.”

Walking through your front door and sitting on the end of the couch, you curl up next to your husband, remembering fondly that dear voice, which is always whispering to your heart. Telling you again to remember who is pursuing you as you pursue these goals.

“Remember me and keep me, always, as your first love.”