Can You Keep a Secret?

I'd just entered the warm, floaty world that hovers between sleep and wakefulness, when it happened. (Don't you love that lovely land?) I wasn't in bed, but nestled in our gravity-free recliner on the back patio, its canopy protecting me from the Sunday afternoon sun.

The. Glorious. Idea.

I'm a creative soul. But this thought that burst into my consciousness, fully formed, was so dissimilar from anything I've thought or done before, it had God's fingerprints all over it. What is it it, you ask?

I can't tell you.

I'm not withholding the news to tease or taunt you. I really want to share it. Did I say really? What I meant to say was I really, really, really want to share it, but can't...at least for now. God is telling me, Not yet. It's not time.

We keep very few things to ourselves these days. That's not right or wrong; it's just the way things are. But it seems to me our rush to tell, tell, tell can rob us of the treasure of blessings and graces God intends solely for us as His uniquely loved masterpieces, or for sharing with others once we've unwrapped and experienced the treasure in the perfect presence of Christ.

I remember when Doug and I first learned we were pregnant with our son. We couldn't wait to tell my parents a second grandchild was on the way, and to let Doug's mom know that she could begin buying Notre Dame onesies...finally. But we didn't, at least not until a few days after we'd received the confirmation. In the meantime we savored our secret, suggested names, and basked in the oneness of the relationship that was Us.

You and I are part of the body of Christ, the Church. And we are also individually known, chosen and named children of God. He sees you, He sees me, and bestows blessings and gifts that stir the you and me that only He truly knows.

If you're a parent, you get what I'm saying. You take your daughter to the theater to see Peter Pan because you know that when the "boy who wouldn't grow up" bursts through the Darlings' nursery window and flies out over the audience, that moment of freedom and sheer delight -- experienced with you, her mom or dad -- will lock itself in a room in your daughter's memory. Or when you gift your horse-crazy son with his first riding lesson, and he gallops around the arena without any tether, that moment of freedom and sheer delight -- experienced with you, his mom or dad -- will lock itself in a room in your son's memory. They may tell their siblings or friends about the experience. But, then again, they may do what Mary, the mother of Jesus, did: treasure it in their hearts.

That's what I'm doing, for now, with The. Glorious. Idea. But I'm not alone.

Jesus is treasuring it with me.