taking the time

A friend stopped by to see me while I was selling my wares at our local farmers' market on Saturday. Though I get a lot of sewing done while I sit behind my table, when I am not reading, of course, I am open to conversation whenever it comes my way--with vendors at nearby tables, curious passersby, and especially friends.

This particular friend wanted me to know of her intentionality to see me, as she shared a sad story of how she kept putting off seeing another friend until one day she was told of that friend's death. We are only middle-aged. Our friends are not supposed to be dying yet, but sometimes they do. This friend of hers had run a store and every time my friend would pass it, she would make that mental note: I'll stop next time. When there is no next time, it makes one realize that if there is a second chance, take it.

Friendship does not require as much as some may think. A few well-chosen words, a smile, a warm embrace, are enough to move a stranger toward the friendship category. There are, of course, acquaintances: those to whom we express the pleasantries of the day by remarking how beautiful the weather is, but unless an effort is made to break through into a more intimate exchange of information, a smile and a nod may be as far as it goes.

Taking the time for someone is to show that person respect. It is to say--I care about you, tell me what is going on. It does not require a great deal of time or money. The visits can be short and not terribly emotional or even that deep. When someone wants to take the time for another it can be as simple as having a cup of coffee together, sitting in chairs talking, taking a walk, even emailing or texting can create a little closeness in the midst of the busyness of life. I value my time, what precious little of it there is. Therefore, when I give it up for someone I care about, I show that person that he or she matters to me.

Taking the time to reconnect with someone is easier said than done. We all have schedules, deadlines and more work than we ever seem to have time to accomplish. Though we may desire to get together with friends, this idea takes its place in a long line of necessary ways to spend a day. A friend asked me recently if I ever had a conversation on the phone anymore. I didn't have the heart to tell her that I have never enjoyed speaking on the phone so I do not miss it, but no, like my busy friend, we are fortunate if we can answer an email or a text. We do not have the luxury of talking on the phone, unless we are already doing something else.

I have walked into a nursing home a couple of times recently to visit the relative of a friend. I was told she would not know me, but she never really knew me to begin with so it does not make a difference. She answers questions I do not ask and makes statements that do not make sense to me but does so with a smile and a sweetness of demeanor. She was once a brilliant, beautiful woman, I am quite certain, and though it is terrible watching someone deteriorate, this is the way she will live out her days until she goes on to glory, and there is nothing anyone can do about that. Giving her a few minutes of time here and there is all that is left to do.

Lord of the Rings readers will remember Gandalf's comforting words to Frodo, who was expressing regret over what had happened. "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."  We make the best decisions we can at the time, never knowing what the future will hold. Taking the time to do a kind gesture for someone is its own reward. There are no promises, no regrets--only choices.

As I went down my mental checklist the other day to try to remember everything I needed to do, I suddenly became aware of my mother's upcoming surgery and realized I had not called her, the one phone call I still make somewhat regularly. By the time I got around to it she and my dad were in the car on the way to the hospital. I was relieved that I had not missed the opportunity to spend a few moments talking with her about her health issues and reasons for medical intervention. She would talk until they reached the rest area, reminding me that her recovery may be long and she will not be able to talk for awhile. By the time we said good-bye I was already placing her in the doctor's care and into God's hands.

It is that way with me every time someone leaves this house. It is my practice to walk to the back steps and wave good-bye. In case anything keeps them from returning home, I need to know that there was a little bit of closure. I am even like that at work. I start my day with greetings and end with brief farewells. It is important for me to take the time to manage my life in this way. It is more intentional even though we are not in control of the outcome.

The friend who came to the market to see me bought a little pillow I had made with the letters l-o-v-e sewn on it from a scrap of red taffeta. I remember thinking that fabric would have made a great retro prom dress. The other fabric used for the pillow was found on a bolt at the Salvation Army and has sparkling birds among its designs. It looks like it would upholster something--maybe a small chair. My friend said it would match her bedroom. I think it matched what was going on in her heart.

in my Birkenstocks

It is impossible to know what is going on in the mind and the heart of another. Even if someone chooses to share this information with me, there are too many variables to ever get it exactly right.

So we make assumptions about each other. He is yawning; he must be tired or bored. She curled her hair; maybe she needs attention. He is dressed nicer than usual; perhaps he is trying to make a good impression. Her eyes are red; she is either suffering from allergies or has been crying.

We can appear as though life is great. Our clothes are clean and we have paid attention to coordinating them in appropriate ways. Basic hygiene goes a long way in allaying the fears of the observant. Looks good + smells good = must be ok.

Recently I have learned that a prayer request means praying for the needs of another and not yourself. This is easy. It also deflects attention if your personal prayer request would not be accepted or understood. It isn't that anyone wants to judge. It is just that there is often not enough time to thoroughly explain. Nothing feels worse than to have something major diminished by a quick, dismissive prayer, equating it to some triviality in life. If I have trivial prayer needs, I must be thought of as a pretty shallow person, I tell myself, as I realize it is too late to take back my prayer request. Never mind, I want to say, don't trouble yourself with it. God has got this one.

It takes discernment to know who is able to handle what is really going on in my life. Some just do not have the capacity for such truths. I do not like to share my "stuff" if it will turn into the only thing brought up each time I make contact with the person--kind of like it was when I was pregnant. I started off wanting to share the news with the world and could not wait until I grew into my new maternity clothes. My baby bump filled me with unimaginable joy, but as time went by I would be asked the same questions, over and over . . . for months. When are you due? How is your pregnancy going? Are you excited about the baby? And on and on it would go. I would long for someone to remember who I was apart from the upcoming blessed event. I was relieved when my doctor referred to the baby as a parasite since I had secretly been feeling like the host it was feeding on and wondering if that would make me an unfit mother. Apparently all that science fiction I had exposed myself to had few deleterious effects on the actual child rearing, or at least that is what I would like to believe.

Once the baby was born, the conversation could revolve around the child. Sometimes it still does. How are your kids? Your husband? Your dog? And then the conversation is over and I wonder what happened to inquiring about me. I make a mental note not to bring that issue up as a prayer request.

Of course I often do not completely share what it is that is going on with me. In fact it would be more accurate to say that I never do. This is not to indicate that I have no friends because I do--some really good ones. I have friends I have known for years and some I have known for only a short time. Some are people of faith; some may never believe as I do. Aside from all of that, there exists a gap in understanding, as it exists with everyone. We each have a unique perspective, an individual bent, and our own cumulative experiences that form us into who we are.

Because I am a writer, I have this whole inner life filled with possible scenarios, scripted with characters playing varying roles. Like imaginary friends pouring their hearts out to me, I have non-stop thought processes going on in my head. Need time alone? Even when I am alone, I am not alone. I know the voices of the actors in my play are all mine so I do not need to worry about passing a psychiatric evaluation, though I will not be taking one any time soon just in case.

There also exists the spiritual component which is a voice different from my own. It is the impetus to put certain words together to form poetry. I obey, usually, knowing that at some point the words will reduce me to tears thus verifying their supernatural origin. This is what I love about writing AND about having a relationship with the Almighty. I also love the fact that if I do not feel like saying anything, my deepest needs are already heard and answers are forthcoming. Well, sometimes not exactly the answers I am looking for, but at least an acknowledgement that I have been listened to.

Maybe this is why I grow impatient with the whole sharing-my-needs-with-others idea. It requires a great deal of effort often resulting in misunderstandings. It is my hope to present myself the way I want to be and honestly ask for prayer regarding those needs that are beyond my reach of fixing. I long to be understood by others in the same way that God understands me and it is just not possible. Good attempts are made when I will allow for them. Love is given and received. There is only one reason why I cannot be fully known by another.

It is because the only one who walks in my Birkenstocks is me.