A Paper-Thin Reminder

The "Forty Days" we just went through must have been only 17 days long. There just wasn't enough time to do things. I know, I know: I'm the only one that ever feels rushed.

About half way through the Lenten season, I was given a startling reminder of something I already knew. The source of the reminder: The edge of a baptismal brochure. The reminder: Slow Down!

When I should have been focusing my attention on the colleague standing next to me, I was hurriedly folding these brochures so I could share them with a family just 5 minutes later. Instead of fully engaging another human being and later calmly doing a simple task, I ended up rinsing my finger under cold stinging water before applying a Band-Aid. And, I was late to the meeting.

You would think the frequent sting from washing my hands or using antibacterial gel would keep me cognizant of the dangers that come with rushing, wouldn't you?

Nope. Only a couple of days later, I was in a mad rush to get an empty file folder to keep myself organized. (As if that is actually possible.) In case you were wondering: Thicker paper cuts such as those that come from file folders do hurt worse.

With a paper cut on each hand I was actually forced to slow down. There was no pain-free way of getting around it. I paged through papers from my mailbox with great care. I cleared my desk (on occasion) with a more purposeful pace. I opened bills with less haste.

Do you know what? It didn't take any me any longer to do these things. I'm absolutely certain of it.

From now on, I hope to find better ways to remind myself to slow down even when the world is throwing hecticity directly at me.

Gethsemane

He Qi's "Praying at Gethsemane"

Gethsemane

The grass never sleeps.
Or the roses.
Nor does the lily have a secret eye that shuts until morning.
Jesus said, wait with me. But the disciples slept.
The cricket has such splendid fringe on its feet,
and it sings, have you noticed, with its whole body,
and heaven knows if it ever sleeps.
Jesus said, wait with me. And maybe the stars did, maybe
the wind wound itself into a silver tree, and didn't move,
maybe,
the lake far away, where once he walked as on a
blue pavement,
lay still and waited, wild awake.
Oh the dear bodies, slumped and eye-shut, that could not
keep that vigil, how they must have wept,
so utterly human, knowing this too
must be a part of the story.
~Mary Oliver, from her collection of poems, "Thirst"

Temptation Isand

Yes, a cup of coffee in a throw-away cup is an island of temptation. As part of my Lenten journey this year, I'm working SO HARD at not using throw-away cups. I have used four during these past few weeks, which considering the volume of coffee I drink on Sunday mornings alone, is near miraculous.

But here's the scene from last Friday: Friday's are my day off. Fridays are usually filled with the following: I put away the nasty pile of clothes that winds up on a chair near the bed. I scrub things. I water plants and pays bills. And I get my hair cut.

I had walked down to the Village of East Davenport to get my hair cut last Friday. I had been busy all morning, and rushed down there. I had not had lunch, or any caffeinated beverages. And I'd been talking and fretting with a stressed-out buddy on the phone all morning.

I got my hair cut (cute). And, as I'm not buying new things during Lent, I politely declined buying all of the awesome products my hair-dresser enticed me with. And I felt sad, as I love those products. But here's the real clencher. I had a head-ache, and my sure-fire way to get rid of head-aches is to get a latte, like the beautiful creation above, and drink it. Yet in my haste to leave the house, I left my to-go mug at home.

Sigh. No coffee for me. This was the first time during the last four weeks that it was a real bummer not buying things and not using throw-away stuff. It has been inconvenient and sometimes annoying not to buy anything, but this was a first. I was very tempted to buy a latte. But without it easing my head on the way home, I took the time to pray for my stressed-out buddy, and all of the other things that were pounding away in my head. I'm glad I was latte-less.