Hurry

Thoughts today stirred from a poem, titled “Hurry.” (Gleaned from a blog,  Sober Boots)

Yesterday, I did not hurry; I spent the whole day putzing and trying to come to terms with the emotions a favorite PBS program generated.

What a gift it was.

To have a day when nothing pressed in, scolding me to “Do this now.”

We stop at the dry cleaners and the grocery store
and the gas station and the green market and
Hurry up honey, I say, hurry hurry,
as she runs along two or three steps behind me
her blue jacket unzipped and her socks rolled down.

Where do I want her to hurry to?

 To her grave?
To mine?

 Where one day she might stand all grown?

Today, when all the errands are finally done, I say to her,
Honey I’m sorry I keep saying Hurry—
you walk ahead of me. You be the mother.

And, Hurry up, she says, over her shoulder, looking
back at me, laughing.

Hurry up now darling, she says,
hurry, hurry, taking the house keys from my hands.

—Marie Howe, The Kingdom Of Ordinary Time

All the memories the poem evoked! For I hurried our kids, and Doug and myself through many days  -- days that dragged through at break neck speed.

But I found a hymn written by Kristyn Getty for her little baby girl that slowed me down – and reminded to pray:

"This world is not as it should be..."; "May my mistakes not hinder you..."; “Father hear my ceaseless prayer == o keep my children and theirs in your care. A Mother's Prayer