Do you measure it by a book you finished reading?
Do you measure it by a meal you ate at a friend’s table?
Do you measure it by whether you wrote something of which you are proud?
Do you measure it by a film you saw?
Do you measure it by the range of temperatures through which the sun shone through the dining room windows?
Do you measure it by the person who stopped by your office and asked for help?
Do you measure it by the meals you prepared in your kitchen that week?
Do you measure it by the number of nights you managed to sleep straight through?
Do you measure it by the plans you made to celebrate a family birthday?
Do you measure it by music you heard?
Do you measure it by photographs you took?
Do you measure it by the grocery run?
Do you measure it by the freshly laundered flannel sheets with which you made your bed?
Do you measure it by whether the reflection at Sunday services moved you to tears?
Do you measure it by an hour of therapy?
Do you measure it by a museum visit?
Do you measure it by the bills you paid?
Do you measure it by the dishes you washed and the rooms you cleaned?
Do you measure it by the ideas that came to you?
Do you measure it by love?
4 comments:
Which are markers, and which are judgments? Sometimes I live in such a fog I cannot remember where the measuring begins or ends.
Where did I put that ruler . . . .?
I guess I do not measure my weeks with any standards. I think I spend most time merely surviving the week rather than making it good or bad enough.
“Measure our days, teach us to number our days, that we may get us a heart of wisdom.”—Psalm 90:12
What if I measure it by a heart-warming comment I receive in my blog?
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