“Nothing can be more useful to a man than a determination not to be hurried.”
Henry David Thoreau, journal entry March 22, 1842.
Fog obscures the valley this morning. I was too stuck in resentment about having to get up early to notice it, at first. Now, as I look south, the veil starts to roll off the far hills, but is still thick in the meadow. I stand still for a long time, watching the sun pull back the covers, suddenly glad my eyes are open.
This reminds me of being in the mountains, where far peaks are cloaked in a blue haze that whispers of mystery. I always have an urge to go there, to see what is hidden, all the while knowing I’d likely see more ranges of mountains that would beckon me onward until I was totally lost.
So often, I’m focused on the long view; possibilities waiting out there in the distance, the beauty that I can barely see, but long to. Other times, I’m worried about what is hidden, or obsessing on “what ifs” and oblivious to the fact that God is trying to show me the magic of the present moment. Right now, I’m grateful for the sleep I didn’t get, the animals that interrupted it, and for the promise of sunshine.
I think of an old country song that was popular when I was a youngster. “Give Me Five Minutes More” was about a lover wanting to linger with his lady, but the concept of relishing the moment can be applied at any point in our lives.
Outrunning my headlights has been a habit for as long as I can remember. I blame it on my mother, whose favorite saying was that half the fun of anything is looking forward to it. That works when what’s on the horizon is something pleasant, but Mom was a worrier too, and her other mantra was, “be careful.” I have to wonder now how much of life she missed because she was always looking ahead. And when, exactly, did I become my mother?
My daughter used to have a plaque on her wall that advised, “Live like someone left the gate open.” When I said I’d like to find one like that, she just took hers down and handed it to me. She and my husband seem to subscribe to the Native American belief that if someone admires something of yours, you should give it to them. So, it lives on my wall now and I feel a little guilty for taking hers, but not enough to give it back. I just try to remember that I’m the only one who can open the gate.
“Life is about the choices we make now, with these five more minutes.”
Terry Hershey
I need to start breakfast, or at least put the coffee on, and I will. In five more minutes.