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  • Writer's pictureSharon

Wasting Time

I'm not a good sit-stiller.

I'd rather be checking off things on my to-do list.  Or scouring the thrift store for treasures I didn't know I needed.

If I'm not busy, I'm wasting time.  And I worked too hard and waited too long for my retirement days to arrive to waste time.

I've always enjoyed reading, but don't spend much time reading…because I feel like I should be writing. If I'm not writing, I'm wasting time.

I love to write, yet recently I can't stay focused enough to write.  Since writing is my calling  and a passion, the fact that I can't seem to get excited about writing has me frustrated…and I'm wasting time.    

Today, after I ran an errand I didn't really need to run, I wandered out on my patio with a book. I settled in the chaise lounge and stretched out my legs; the sun was pleasingly warm and tingly on my legs.  I told myself I was doing something productive — soaking up much-needed Vitamin D — and allowed myself to indulge in a mindless novel.

I'd been reading for a little while when a sweet scent wafted by on a breeze.  I notice the nearby magnolia tree is bursting with new leaves. Tight brown buds sit on the clusters of waxy leaves.  Although the buds are weeks away from blooming, they are already emitting a pleasing fragrance.

I continue reading.

Movement catches my attention.  The breeze was stirring my potted geraniums.  The bright pink blooms are striking against the deep green leaves. The sunshine made the intensely colorful clusters even more radiant.

I resume reading.

A bird song distracts me. Hidden high in the trees, a brown thrasher sings a cheerful melody.  Its song goes on and on, and I chuckle; I can't help but think it's showing off its song repertoire and ability to out-sing any other songbird.

The trasher quiets and I hear the low coo of mourning doves.  Their songs stir fond childhood memories of my grandparents' house. As night fell, their coo would drift in my bedroom window, their song a peaceful lullaby.  Whenever I hear a dove's call, a sense of peace floods my heart.

The breeze stirs the plants in my container garden.  This is the first time in decades that I've decided to grow tomatoes, and my first time ever for cucumbers. While I'm not ready to be a homesteader, I'm hopeful I'll have a small harvest.  I touch the tomato vine knowing it would leave its distinct musky smell on my fingers. Again, childhood memories are stirred; this time of picking tomatoes from my great uncle's garden.  There were always fresh sliced tomatoes on the dinner table.  I lift up one of the leaves; there are several pea-sized green tomatoes.  My mouth waters at the thought of things to come.

As I move my chair into the shade, I put down my book and take in my surroundings.  I notice the way the sunbeams spill through the trees and fall on the patio, dancing with the shadows.  The sky is clear blue and cloudless.  Scurrying squirrels are causing a ruckus.  A cardinal peeps its annoyance at the ruckus.

I realize my stress is gone.  I feel relaxed. Renewed. Content. Blessed.

Every moment of awareness is a gift from God. Even though the magnolia hasn't reached its shining moment, it's still producing a sweet fragrance. The geranium is doing exactly what God created it to do: to bloom radiantly where it's planted. The dove and the thrasher are created to sing different songs.

It takes time for things to grow; the end result will be worth the wait.

I just may waste time more often.

You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You,

because he trusts in You. - Isaiah 26:3

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