One of the realities of life is that we simply can’t be two places at once. Most of the time we avoid facing that truth. We’ve got text messaging and cell phones and e‑mail and video cameras and who knows what else we’ll invent to help us pretend to be omnipresent?

But every so often the illusion breaks down. For example, our daughter, Kyan, graduated from Azusa Pacific University on a recent Saturday evening. Kurt, our 14‑year‑old son, is an avid soccer player. His team was among the top four teams competing for the State Cup, and had a game on the same day.

Kyan’s big event was in California; Kurt’s was in Arizona. Kyan’s was at 6 p.m.; Kurt’s was at 4 p.m. I know, in the broad scheme of things it’s not the end of the world, but still, as a parent, we wished we could have been there for both of them on their big days. But we couldn’t. We’re not omnipresent.

Why do we crave omnipresence? We’re just creatures, bound to space and time. You’d think we’d accept that. But we don’t. We want it all–now.

No wonder we’re so stressed. I’m stressed even as I write this. I’m trying to complete it quickly because I have a “To Do” list longer than the hours in the day. Chances are you do, too. You may even feel guilty for taking the time to read my dawdling dribble.

I don’t think we were meant to live under that kind of pressure. We can’t be in two places at once. We’re not God. We can pretend to be, long to be, try to be, but we’re not. At the end of the day, we’re His dearly loved children playing out our lives under His loving, omnipresent eye. And that’s a good thing.

Under the frenetic pace of our lives we are in danger of becoming human “doings” rather than human “beings.” We weren’t designed to merely do, but to truly “be.” And if all we ever do is “do,” we never have time to “be.”  With apologies to Shakespeare: “To be, or not to be: that is the question.”

Here’s my answer:  I’ll try to embrace my humanness with its limitations. I’ll try to “be” fully present in each moment of my day–not thinking or worrying about what I can’t be or do. I’ll enjoy my daughter’s graduation without stressing about my son’s ballgame.

I’ll take time to sit and do nothing. To enjoy being alive. To love people. To “be.” To listen to the birds sing.

This classic human dilemma reminds me of a little poem that  my childhood pastor was fond of quoting:

Said the robin to the sparrow,
“I should really like to know
Why these anxious human beings
Rush about and worry so.”

Said the sparrow to the robin,
“Friend, I think that it must be
That they have no heavenly Father
Such as cares for you and me.”

Steve Gilbertson is the pastor of Sanctuary, a church in the heart of Cave Creek. To read more of his writing, or to contact him directly, visit www.sanctuarytoday.com.