The cold February wind whips her ponytail, sending strands of gold swirling around her face as she races ahead of me into the distance. She lowers her body close to the handlebars, legs and feet pedaling hard, carrying her farther away from me....a little dot in the distance. I pick up my pace, break into a run, trying to catch up. "Slow down!", I call breathlessly into the space between us. My heart pounds, blood pumping adrenaline, as I watch her turn around, bicycle teetering on the edge of meeting concrete. She laughs, hops off her bike, and walks it back to meet me. Her ponytail swishes...back and forth, back and forth, like a prancing pony.

 

And I stand stock still, breath caught in throat.

 

Hadn't my mother said those same words to me only yesterday? "You look like a prancing pony, swishing your tail back and forth when you walk", she had said, laughter in her eyes. My cheeks had blushed red as she gathered me into a hug, assuring me that being like a pony was a good thing. Only that wasn't yesterday, was it? No, that was twenty-seven years ago, and where did the time go? Tears spring to my eyes, then spill over as I think about the morning phone call:news of my mother's best friend, laying in a hospital bed, fighting the last battle she would ever face. A woman who had watched me grow up, loved me, prayed for me. How can this be? My thoughts spin, bumping into one another...present-reality and memories colliding, and this can't be right...shouldn't I be eight, and riding my bicycle, my mother in her 30's, watching her baby pedal into the distance, ponytail flying, and calling for me to "just slow down"?

 

But I am NOT eight, and my mother? She will never be thirty again. I think about life, and cycles, and how it all feels so cruel in this moment. My grandmother, in the ground. My mother, taking my grandmother's place, me taking my mother's, Lydia taking mine. Time marches on. What were those last words my mother's friend had spoken to me, a mere two weeks ago? "Time goes by so quickly, and children, they grow up so fast", she had said. I can hardly breathe.

 

She trots toward me, pushing her bike, then hops onto the seat, a whir of gears and wind racing past me. I reach my hand out, touch a strand of that wild, wind-tangled hair, gold like honey, as she pedals by. "Slow down", I whisper into the space between us. "Slow down".

 

I walk after her, watching the brave jumps and turns of a little girl unafraid of getting hurt. My feet thump the pavement, and all the while, my heart thumps the thought to my brain: One chance. One chance. ONE. CHANCE. Fear grips my heart like a vice, and I pray. I only get one chance to teach these girls, and how do I tell them, show them, when to say "no", when to be quiet and walk away, when to say "yes, yes, absolutely yes"??? One chance. One chance. ONE. CHANCE. I only have one chance to do what God has called me to do, and do I even know what that thing is??? I pray as I walk, chasing after the big girl, the little girl in the stroller below me. I pray...pray....pray. For direction. For clairty and purpose. A thought: two simple words, strung together in my mind. Light stand. I remember this is from scripture, but can't place the words, and wonder why I have thought of this now. I pray...pray...pray.

 

It is later on, in the quiet of the evening, while the washer spins and dinner bakes up, warm and brown in the oven, that I search for the scripture. I find it: Matthew 5:13-16. I read it again and again, trace my fingers over the words written for me. Why am I always surprised when He speaks to me? He is a father, MY father, after all.

 

Matthew 5:13-16 (from the Message Bible)

Let me tell you why you are here. You're here to be salt-seasoning that brings out the God-flavors of the earth. If you lose your saltiness, how will people taste godliness? You've lost your usefulness and will end up in the garbage. Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you? I'm putting you on a light stand. Now that I've put you there on a hilltop, on a light stand-shine! Keep open house, be generous with your lives. By opening up to others, you'll prompt people to open up with God, this generous Father in Heaven.

 

The answer to my prayers, in black and white. I am a light on a stand. YOU are a light on a stand. Shining in our homes, in our families, our communities. The ways in which we shine, in which we open ourselves and God up to others, is unique. We all have special talents, and I am not sure in what ways God wants to use me, but I DO know this: I can shine in little ways, in little places, each and every day. I do not want to hide my light under a bucket. We only have ONE CHANCE to shine for God, to fulfill our purpose, to impact one another's lives for the better. Now you know what your purpose is, as do I :). My prayer is that each and every person that reads this will realize the impact that their life can have...in big ways, and in small, tiny ways, adding up to something bigger than they could ever imagine. The choices we make. The words spilling from our mouths, our pens, our keyboards. Our actions and our reactions. It ALL matters, and it can ALL have an effect on the kingdom of Heaven, whether good or bad. We have a purpose....to be a light on a stand, a city on a hill. I pray that God will reveal to you, to me, the ways in which He would have us shine. ONE. CHANCE. What will you do with yours???

 

Big Hugs,

Julie