I adjust the mirror. Steal a glance.
She’s close enough to touch and miles away.
Brooding eyes meet mine, then dart.
The light is gone – spilled in the plunge.
She tripped and fell on the way to the car,
not on rocks or roots but words.
The press of the day,
and the clock,
and the list
shouted louder than her need
and in the squeeze, I sprayed shrapnel.
No time for flower picking,
Don’t you see this list?
Hear time ticking?
Can’t you see there is no time to BE?
I clutch the wheel and set my compass.
Turn up the radio to mask His voice.
But still it comes.
The whisper in the whirlwind.
It was a command, not a suggestion.
Life, not law.
That list beside you on the seat – you know, the one scrawled hurriedly while you barked about shoes and shopping? – it can wait.
Seriously? Have you SEEN this list?
She’s missing your deadlines
but you’re missing your life!
How do I slow?
Lead like Jesus.
He makes me to lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
What brings you more delight?
Tending little souls, or ticking little boxes?
A slave to the list and the clock will not bend to the voice of the child
- or the Spirit.
You would lay down your life for her,
…but will you lay down your list?