After a full day at the office, and a back end full of groceries, I was hurriedly getting out of the car, grabbing my purse and some trash on the way out, and haphazardly dropped my phone on the ground. I bent down to grab it and saw a snail slithering by, carrying a huge shell on his back. Just like that.
I walked into the kitchen to see everything that needs cleaning. As the family passed me by to retrieve the groceries from the car, I looked around at where to start, and wanted to hide inside my shell for a while. I decided to start with the mail: bills, ads, another bill and then an envelope with my name beautifully written across the front. I opened it and found a card from one of my dearest friends, Angela. It was just a hand-written version of her “just thinking of you’s.” Simple, yet lovely like poetry. I wanted to write her back. That very second.
Hours turned into days, which turned into weeks, and all throughout, things I thought of to tell her kicked up behind me as I hurried through life. And every opportunity to reciprocate the notion slipped away.
And yet everything in my kitchen looks the same. The grass is even a little longer. Nothing I did in the busy-ness of days really made any difference. I could have written my friend back and told her what a gift her words were to me that afternoon. That I truly shared a moment with her across the miles, feeling myself in her details.
I need to learn from my children, for they cannot be hurried when they are enjoying something.