Nancy and I find ourselves saying the day several times a day.
Or at least I do.
Part of it is my work schedule. Part of it is our event schedules. Much of the disorientation is the incessant flow of information overwhelming the boundaries of evening and morning, of weeks, of months, of years.
You aren’t scolding me for my chronological cluelessness. And yet, you did offer help. The boundaries of evening and morning. The waxing and waning of the moon. The scenery that changes even when the morning window is the same.
Even the life that comes and goes, day by decade.
It’s Tuesday (though it’s Monday as I write this (which is, perhaps part of my confusion)).
Give us, I ask, the bread that was placed on the shelf, on the table, in the sandwich for Tuesday. Give us the wisdom for the decisions and the situations and the gaps on Tuesday, without spending the time wondering where the wisdom for Wednesday will come from. Take the rest we did get and multiply it like fish for the demands of Tuesday.
And give us the courage to quiet the information.
I ask this for me, mostly, but for each of us as well.
Through Christ who is the same Monday, and Tuesday, and forever.