Yesterday was the first day of classes here at the Bible school. It was my grandma's birthday; she would have been 79. It was also the six-year anniversary of when I first arrived in Senegal.
All of those things were worth celebrating, so I did. I pulled out the cookbook and baked Grandma's raspberry cardamom cake (because of all the wonderful cakes she made, this one is my favorite). We grilled brats and ate together around the table. I'm glad we took time to remember, to mark the occasions. It was lovely and fitting.
Today is the second day of classes, the day after Grandma's birthday, the six-year anniversary of...my second day in Senegal.
Second days are, frankly, a lot like first days, only without the fanfare. Without the excitement or the dressing up or the Facebook memories. On the second day, the very edge of the newness might have worn off, but things aren't completely familiar yet. The roses are open a little more, but the cake is gone. The Senegalese dress is tucked away in favor of more practical office attire. The cookbook is back on the shelf, the extra cake pan returned, and the lone leftover brat was my dinner.
I think it's important to celebrate the milestones and birthdays and anniversaries, I really do. But most of life isn't a first or a last. Most of life is the in-between. The second, the third, the seven-hundred-and-fifty-seventh.
It's okay. I might miss the anticipation that goes with a first day or the sense of accomplishment on a last day, but second days give me a choice. I can be grumpy and unsatisfied, or I can choose to be faithful in what God has given me to do today. And then tomorrow, I can choose again. The in-between has its own unassuming gifts - reminders of God's love and presence.
So here's to second days, to quiet grace, and to walking with God in the ordinary moments.
