Life on a Rope Swing

My children spend nearly every recess break on our rope swing. 

It propels them to dizzying heights, as they launch off deckside, skim the tired blades of grass below, and soar skyward on the far side of the yard.  If they're in the proper position, they can land squarely back on the deck, or they can choose the long pendulum ride, on which the swing finally stills to the equilibrium point.

I've swooped on it myself many times.  It provides the tummy- tickling thrill I love, but by the third pass, it reminds me I am almost 40 and no longer have tolerance for pendular motion.  Somewhere on the continuum of life, I went from joyful swinging, to gentle pusher of the swinging babe, to wild underdog-giver, to happily watching from the deck chair.

In my women's Bible study last week, we passed the baton of prayer requests around the circle, and many ladies uttered the need for balance.  One wise soul told us that balance is like a pendulum...you just kind of brush by it on occasion, but never settle there for long.  Most of life is spent on the upswing or downswing, where you can feel it in your stomach. 

Gallileo figured out the pendulum, which in Latin, means "hanging."  I like the phrase "massive bob."  Yes, that phrase well describes many scenes in our lives.  Big things.

The smallish things, too, disrupt balance.  I think of the pendulum when I pass by the vacuum cleaner, which has been patiently sitting in our 2nd floor hallway for over a week.  Instead of using it, I bend to pick up plugs of dog hair, buttons and barrettes, paper scraps and mystery objects, and tell myself I should just finish vacuuming, but I don't have time because Megan needs my help in math, and there are piano students coming at 3, and the kitchen counter is crying for clearance, and what on earth did I just climb these steps to get?  Life can feel less like a pendulum and more like a brisk game of tetherball. 

I want everything done at once, running smoothly, spilling over with contentment, all needs met, with energy to spare.  Sometimes I want to be the miniature ballerina in the music box, poised lovely on tiny toes with pleasant music underscoring the day. 


Why did God place in us this longing for balance and then create the pendulum model of life? 

Perhaps balance is not worth chasing after. Could it be that the sense of well-being we long for is found in the rope we hang on to, no matter the trajectory, no matter the amplitude; the rope that is tethered  not to a limb, but to the heart of God?