Oh, no single piece of our mental world is to be hermetically sealed off from the rest, and there is not a square inch in the whole domain of our human existence over which Christ, who is Sovereign over all, does not cry: ‘Mine!’
Abraham Kuyper
He looks at me.
At my body, which tells of comfort sought
and briefly found in chocolate
and the richest of foods
and says, “Actually,
MINE.”
* * *
And he reads my blog,
which has brought me more pleasure
and blessing than any work I have ever done
and he smiles,
and asks,
MINE?
And I say, “Oh yes, of course; it’s yours. Would I embark on something so time-intensive, so out of my control, with so large a possibility of failure without you? Would I feel happy or confident if it were not yours?
And he smiles and says, “Don’t forget it.”
* * *
And he looks at my dream of finishing the big, big book on which I worked, off and on, for 15 years before I dropped it
And he says,
MINE.
And I say,
“Yes, of course. But will you let me finish it?”
And he replies,
MINE.
And I say, “Okay, Lord,
We’ll wait and see.
MINE, you say?
Well, then, it’s safe.”
* * *
And he looks at my children, and sees,
My love, dreams, fear, and vicarious ambition all mixed up,
And he says,
MINE.
And I sigh with relief,
“Okay, then, you’ll manage them better than I can.
Okay then, have them, but look after them well.”
And he replies,
MINE.
* * *
And he looks at my marriage,
and says,
MINE.
And I say,
“Well, of course. How else could I do it?”
And he looks a little deeper,
Getting a bit more intimate,
and says, MINE.
And I say, “That’s a bit personal, you know.
But, okay.”
* * *
And so he goes, through my life,
Friendships.
MINE.
“Of course, Lord, would I want to have a friendship you hadn’t given me?
I would not.”
* * *
Travel.
MINE.
I sigh. I love travel.
Yes, I say, “Yours.”
* * *
Money.
MINE.
“What, Lord, all of it?
MINE.
“What? No scope for frivolity? For self-indulgence?
MINE.
“That’s going to be a hard one, Lord, but we’ll begin to work it out.”
* * *
And he looks at my day:
How time slips away in trivial
browsing of blogs,
newspapers, facebook, twitter
and the sadness I feel as it does.
And he says,
“Your time, Anita;
Actually, it’s MINE.”
“Of course, have my time,” I say. “Please. I don’t manage my time that well anyway. Please manage it.”
* * *
And he looks at my garden,
my acre and a half with which I was so thrilled
and now find so hard to maintain
and he says,
“MINE.”
And I say,
“Yours? Okay,”
and sigh with relief
because I want so much to get it perfect
and fail so miserably, but if it’s His,
he’ll help me.
And he looks at my house and says,
MINE.
And again, I relax.
Oh, that bugbear of mine,
Yes, Lord, you manage it.
* * *
And business done, he looks at me again,
Smiles and says,
“MINE.”
And I sigh with pleasure, relief and happiness,
And say, “Yes, Lord,
I’m YOURS.”