Spring wonderings

The breeze whispering over northern Virginia this morning was cool, yet pregnant with the promise of warmth later on in the day. As I walked toward Independence Avenue from L’Efant, I noted the vibrant yellow of the miniature daffodils in front of the Department of Education and the Japanese magnolias on the cusp of blooming in front of the VOA building. In my opinion, the bud is really the best time to see a flower. While lacking its full blossom, you see the deep purples and pure whites at their finest and know that, barring bad weather, the flowers will still be there in two weeks. The botanical garden boasted two-toned tulips and beautiful pansies in abundance. Even the barest branches of trees and bushes are turning verdant. I never understood the life spring can just breathe into you until I lived in a place with four full seasons.
Today was the last day of recess, so it was somewhat occupied with catch up, clean up, and some kick back time. For the last hour I was largely unoccupied, and thoroughly enjoyed the mental break. Through the mental to-do list, the projects and legislation and media plans and constituent letters and requests, my fluttering mind eventually settled on the question of why it took me so long to fall asleep last night. I started at the ceiling for at least an hour having just watched Amazing Grace. I’d seen it before, but the second watch was a more contemplative one for me. My mind kept turning over the fact that William Wilberforce and William Pitt were my age when they came into their own in parliament – namely, when the latter became prime minister of what was, at the time, still the world superpower. The lyrics to a Three Doors Down song rang unbidden through my mind (“If I could be like that/ I would give anything/ just to live one day/ in those shoes/ if I could be like that/ what would I do?”).
Movies like that used to be pure inspiration to me. And they are still inspirational. But now that I, too, am at least something of a legislator – albeit in a completely different way than an MP – there’s a new facet now. The nagging question. The mandate, if you will. What are you making of your life?
The answer, of course, is that my life is not mine to “make.” Wilberforce probably would have said the same thing. Early in his career, I doubt he had a conviction that he would succeed in his nearly inconceivable endeavor of ending the slave trade. And the success was not ultimately his; in a sense he was a vehicle of a much larger movement, perhaps even Justice itself. The true impact of his life can only be known through history, and so it is with us – even if history does not record our names.
I don’t care so much about appearing in a history book, but I want what I do to matter. So much so, some days I can taste it. But in some ways, it’s a relief to know all that is out of my hands.
With this may I learn to be content, to “lead a quiet and peaceable life in all godliness and dignity. This is right and acceptable in the sight of God our Savior, who desires everyone to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” (II Timothy 2:2-4)