Give it an extra minute

It was the middle of the morning before we were finally ready to tackle our errands today. I had the ambitious goal of walking two blocks down the road to the post office and then the bank. The only obstacles left to overcome was to put Liam in some pants (we have started exploring potty training, and so at home, he runs around pant-less), and put on his shoes. Exactly one hour - ONE HOUR - later, we were walking out the door. It turns out two obstacles can quickly multiply and reveal a few unexpected landmines! There were snacks demanded, messes to clean up, games to play (namely, “chase” - his favorite, when diapers are concerned), tears to wipe, and even our cat had his own demands. But all in all, not terrible for an exhausted third-trimester mama and her tireless toddler. But when we had only made it across the first street and he was already pulling free to head in the opposite direction, my last drop of patience ran me dry. I turned around to once and for all give up my lofty - and apparently unattainable - dream of completing two errands, when a small miracle occurred. Because of my sheer exhaustion and extra body weight, I turned slower than I hoped, giving Liam the opportunity to surprise me. Instead of running off down the highway or into someone’s yard, he had found the beginning of a raised curb, and was reaching for my hand so I could help him balance and walk (the right way) alongside the sidewalk. Relieved and more than happy to oblige his adventurous spirit, we salvaged our goal and traveled the two or three square blocks in a cool 45 minutes.

I would not normally consider my slowness an advantage, but it occurred to me that without those extra few seconds, our morning would have gone a very different, unhappy way.

It’s easy for me to get in a rush and demand his little feet keep up. But more and more I’m finding his detours or objections or delays are communicating something important, if I give him just a minute more.

And it’s not just him. Across the board, I find myself valuing speed over quality. In conversations I rush in (you probably didn’t need to finish that sentence did you?), in reading articles I rush over (the headline covered all the main points, right?), in drawing conclusions I rush by (who says there’s more than one side to a story?).

The result of all this rushing is just a bunch of short change. Whether it’s short changing my relationships by not listening to understand, or short changing myself by not concerning myself with truth or details, the rush leaves me empty.

Nature shows us the value of waiting an extra moment. The first flowers of spring come and go so fleetingly, but the ones that make you wait - those are the ones given to us to enjoy for the entire season.

Likewise, baking tells the same story - anyone who has prematurely opened an oven door wishes immediately they had waited another minute.

I’m no artist, but when my Grandma showed me how to paint with water colors, I learned quickly to take a moment to let each color dry before picking up the next one.

And when my son is heading back to his toys when it’s time to head to the door, if I wait an extra minute, he usually is just telling me he forgot to get his tractor to bring along for the ride.

All these extra seconds and minutes seem like a high price in the midst of my “rush,” but if I listen to the echoes from nature, and baking, and art, then I learn they are an investment. With enough of them in the right moments, I will soon be rich indeed.

And as I practice in the physical, so it goes in the spiritual… an answer to the Father’s plea, to wait on Him. There is treasure to be found there, too.

Can I afford to give this extra minute?

It would seem I simply cannot afford not to.