Time Travelers

I'm speaking to a group today on the issue of time management. I always am surprised, really, at the audience when I arrive, they have big thick journals or shiny, sharp palm pilots. And I always smile, because I know that when I pull out my small notebook of scrabbled notes, I'll get more than a few disdainful smiles.

The reality is that we don't manage time. It manages us. We like to think that we can harness it, direct it, position it and make it our own. But time is of another species, I think and we do well to understand that.

The best we can do with time is simply allow it. We can't rush it, hurry it, stop it or frighten it into submission, although most of us do our best to do just that. We think that if we design intimidating schedules that we will somehow frighten time into obeying us.

What's that phrase -- we plan time and God laughs?

I think the first step in having time is letting time alone, let it be. Most of us go through life like kids on a Halloween hunt, cramming all the little chocolate pieces into the bag as fast as we can, scarfing it down, while the ooey, gooey mess runs down our chins. It's more like we assault the time in which we're in.

Just once I want someone to tell me, "I really want to enjoy my time here.." or "I love investing time in the things I love.." But they don't tell me that. They come to me with furrowed brows and looking all the world like worn out time travelers, they say, "I really need to get a handle on my time.."

That's just it. We can't. The best we can do is to simply understand that time is outside of our control and that we have been given pieces of it to cherish and to love.

That's why my most treasured moments with my kids aren't on the vacations that I painstakingly took months to plan, but at the kitchen table at 6 in the morning when Im in my early morning coma, clutching my hot tea like a life preserver, my kid will turn to me and say, "how can I talk to my friend about her stupid boyfriend?"

And I am jostled out of the reverie and know that this is it -- this is the moment that the parenting books talk about and warn you about that you better do something wondeful, like shut up and listen.

Or like the moment when I'm in my garden and amidst the dry brown leaves there emerges a tiny shoot of a rose bush, that wasn't there a few days ago and I am again struck by the notion that life continues onward even we we swear that the cold of winter has killed everything, even our sagging spirit.

Life presents moments to us in disguise and if we are awake, if we are thoughtful, we can find that this is the moment among all others and this is the moment that if need be, we must cancel all the other pending appointments on our beloved datebook and stop, and pray and be worshipful.

Life sneaks up on us, hoping to catch us off guard, I think, just so we can be surprised at its beauty and its wonder. We're usually too busy planning our next event, scolding our kids for being late for school, cursing the wind for bringing all those leaves that cover the ground.

I wonder, at those times, if God falls back on his haunches and sighs. "She missed it again!" he mourns. "When will she get it?"

My datebook today is penciled and marked, already has a few bold strokes through things that I knew -- just knew -- would come through. There is a gap in the afternoon that troubles me for this is nothing more disconcerting to a person like myself than a blank in their datebook.

I wonder, if today, I would just walk out to the garden and stand there, wondering what mercies I'm missing by filling that blank with stuff? I wonder, if I just stood in the kitchen while my kids ate yet another bag of cheese puffs I just stood there, in wonder and awe and listened and opened my eyes?

Doorway People -- first draft

I've been thinking a lot about doors and entryways lately. Mostly because I've been replacing two back exterior doors in my house.

What began as a simple thought one cold winter day, ("I think I want a new storm door..") has emerged as a major re-do project including new deadbolts, painting, new interior doors and numerous trips to my local hardware store.

And it got me thinking about something -- a snippet of an idea, really, but one that keeps coming back to me.

How are people like doors?

I think there are a lot of similarities. Some people are gateways to new worlds, new ideas, new ways of doing life.

And some are closed. Hard. Bolted shut.

I've known a lot of doorway people in my life -- those that provided the means to a turn in life that opened up new possibilities, new ways of thinking.

And I've known a few that kept me out, shut me out, kept me at bay.

I've started studying doors all around town, looking at how they provide entrance to their structures, how they beckon or how they detour. I've discovered that doors are fascinating, really, and say more about the structure in which they exist than most anything else.

Some say, "welcome". Others say "Keep Out".

The thing is, I use to take doors for granted. I didn't notice the hardware (silver or gold, matte or shiny) , or how it opened (left or right) or if there were windows at the top or bottom or if at all. I use to not even notice if a door was painted or stained or if it had a lock or a chain or a deadbolt.

(continued...)

Memos from God

I am surrounded today of reminders of a 14 year journey. I just arrived home from a conference with work that will be a benchmark, a milestone for me.

I often attend such conferences reluctantly. I am not, by my own wiring, a social person. I enjoy long walks on the beach and big thick books. And alone time -- lots and lots of alone time. My husband tells me that I'm like a battery which needs a lot of time to recharge. I think he is right.

So often I find myself at confernces such as this one checking my watch, waiting for the right moment to duck out, leave early.

Not this time. This time, I was asked to teach which pleased me. I put together my speech, somewhat academically, and went prepared to do my job.

Only this time, my job did me. As I wrestled to bring what I had put onto paper into applications, the art of storytelling did what it has done for thousands of years -- it took mere experiences and gave them a spirit and a soul. I wish I could take credit for this -- say that it was my great oratory experience that achieved this. But it wasn't. There is no way that I could have on my own strength, of which has been sagging, done this thing.

I think this spirit emerged because of something that I know so little about. It is about people who believe in someone -- friends from this journey of 14 years -- who have watched me, mentored me, believed in me and yesterday they stood by me while I thought -- I thought -- that I was suppose to teach them.

But what happened, was that they taught me. Again.

Some people are given families who do this for them. Others are given churches or friends. I think all of all us are given some tribe from which we are born, we grown, we learn, we work, we wrestle and play and laugh and we emerge different than what we would have been alone. War buddies talk about this, people who work on projects together may have this. And yesterday, I was humbled to see that I have it, too, although most of the time, I arrogantly believe that I walk by myself. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

It's these memos from God that he sends us when spirits such as this join that say, "See? I told you I would stay with you. You just have to know where to look."

I don't have a complicated theology. It is very simple - there is a God and I am not Him. I do not know how God works, wouldn't begin to say I understood His ways or that I often agree with Him. Most of the time, I treat God like some belligerent sibling, shaking my head saying, "Why on EARTh would you do THAT?"

I hope that I always have those questions. After all, a God that I can understand is one that is smaller than me, really. And what kind of a God is that? The day that I can formulate and equate God in my feeble mind will be a sad day indeed.

Somedays it is enough to wonder and muse, though my heart may be heavy with things I don't understand. Somedays - like yesterday -- I am reminded that I don't have to have the answers. Only the courage to continue the search.