Are we human? Or are we dancer?

As I followed my housemate into our house the other day, our conversation laced with the usual lamentations regarding our chaotically mundane lives, she voiced the concern that has been pressing upon me lately. "Sometimes I just feel like I'm not living...I'm just going through the motions of life, accomplishing the next thing, checking it off, and moving on."

I feel the same way. In the midst of shrewdly managing my time and relationships, I am forgetting to be human. A mental review of my days leaves me flashing back to scavenged meals in my cluttered kitchen, shallow business-like meetings with friends, emailing and scheduling and walking the same halls over and over again. Squandered opportunities for betterment, because television is an easy escape, or because a mind-numbing jog with deafening earbuds appeals to me more than the mental burn and spiritual exercise of a good book.

I am copping out of my own life with the excuse, "I just don't have enough time": a phrase that covers all wrongs, that elicits sympathetic nods and sighs of commiseration. How often do I say that, apologetically, feeling utterly and helplessly vindicated?

Beneath that excuse lurks the assumption that I am allowed to alter my attitude depending upon the activity that I am engaging, that I am allowed to numb my spirit at work, or turn off my brain at play. How false.

Time, ultimately, is a shapeshifter, coming to me in many different guises. Worktime, playtime, sleeptime, mealtime, churchtime, familytime, friendstime. On and on. So, next time I clock into work, I need to view it as another of Time's guises. I work in this world, after all--the same world that I play in, and fellowship in. A world that pulsates with color and personality, that reflects that character of its Maker as much in the buckets of rainwater that leak into the Boiler Room as in the tree-thatched trails that greet my tennis shoes after work, or the endearingly wacky puppy who charms me in the evenings.

I think the key is to be found in regarding myself as a child again. When I think of my life only in terms of service, of performing each task with mechanical faithfulness, I lose the spirit of exploration and licensed delight and privileged ownership that should characterize the Christian child of God.

I am His daughter, and He has placed me on this earth to grow and thrive through an obedience that involves more than mere proper behavior...that involves loving Him. And I learn to do that by pondering His character. It is a character that shines out everywhere, if I'd just look up from the checklist. A character that is sacred (just look at the image radiating from each individual you encounter), that is beautiful (artistry, both human and divine, littering the world in spendthrift abandon), that is powerful (consider the tidal swells of emotion that rage even in one human soul), that is a thousand other attributes. I have a lifetime to devote to reveling in that character and responding to it.

So I'm respectfully ditching the checklist, and instead opening my hands, eyes, mind, and heart to the time that I've been given, regardless of the form it assumes.