If some seasons of the year cook the food at convection oven speed, early summer is like a crock pot. People you usually see suddenly fall off the map like mobsters who've taken the offer to go into witness protection. Tasks take longer to complete. Emails and phone calls go unanswered. Everything... slows... down.
The patience of we "Type A" personalities gets tested most during June and December. These two months of the year represent "Type B" heaven. Getting anything accomplished during these two activity-less double fortnights is about as easy as getting someone to articulate a complete sentence at the conclusion of a Grateful Dead concert.
But mind you, O faithful bloggerland reader, this is not always a bad thing. While life gets put on the proverbial hold from time-to-time, the lesson behind it is valuable if we have eyes to see, especially for control freaks like your loyal scribe.
Even this little online journal has slowed down a bit, much without my notice. I simply realized the other day that it had been a couple of weeks since my last entry. But sometimes, this is good.
The whole world does not have to be fixed today. Every relationship does not have to be solidified by tomorrow night. The completion of today's tasks only serves to foreshadow tomorrow's to-do list.
John Lennon wrote in his song about his firstborn son, Sean, the wonderful line: "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."
God has a gift for each one of us, and that gift is called "Today." I will confess to you, dear reader, that I have spent much of this week thinking about the events of this weekend that is now upon us. I am afraid that I missed some things on Tuesday and Wednesday because my heart was already comfortably reclined in the future. (This too is a danger of summer with its promises of vacations and poolside leisure.)
So here's to "Today." To the granola bar I just ate. To the last cup of coffee this morning now getting lukewarm on my little office desk. To the conversation I just had with my friend Melanie. To the wonderfully cozy sandals on my feet. To the lilting sound of David Gilmour's Strat emanating from the old stereo behind me. And to the feel of the home keys on my keyboard even as I sit here writing this self-reminder to not be so daft as to miss what is right before me.
Here's to this moment, a gift from God, the best one ever.
Amen.
