Slow Down
I just needed two things at the store, but I kept forgetting what I was there for. I just couldn't stop looking at all the people there. Old, young, white, black, tall, short. And their faces; I couldn't stop seeing their faces.
Slow down, and look at their faces.
I keep seeing a face in my mind; I don't know her, really. I see her around town occasionally, I see her at the pool in the summer, sometimes I see her walking. Her daughter was killed yesterday in a car accident, near our neighborhood. Dead at the scene.
Slow down, try to remember what you came to buy.
But instead of groceries, I see the faces around me. Faces that reflect their Maker's image. I think how pathetically mundane and normal and easy my life is today. I'm frustrated because I have a kid who has to be on a special diet? I should rejoice that special food is all she needs; and I would but for the heaviness in my heart.
Slow down, be thankful.
Waiting in line. How many other faces are hiding a hurt, a wound, a burden? How many other faces will crumble the minute they get to the safety of the car? How many will go home to a nightmare of a life?
Slow down, smile at someone.
And I want to smile, but it's so hard today. But I will, because I know how blessed I am and that there are some who can't smile today. I manage one smile before I am overwhelmed by it all and feel tears stinging my eyes.
Slow down, drive slowly.
The drive home. I drive down the street where she died, whisper a prayer for her mother. I drive slowly, and the street bears no sign of the tragedy that played out 24 hours ago. And I just want to let off the gas and coast along, but there is an impatient car behind me.
Slow down and listen.
And I'm home, in the garage, and I hear the happy noises of my children before I can open the door all the way, and they are all whole. For today. For today, I have all my children. Today, they are with me. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
Slow down, hug the children. Slowly.
Slow down, and look at their faces.
I keep seeing a face in my mind; I don't know her, really. I see her around town occasionally, I see her at the pool in the summer, sometimes I see her walking. Her daughter was killed yesterday in a car accident, near our neighborhood. Dead at the scene.
Slow down, try to remember what you came to buy.
But instead of groceries, I see the faces around me. Faces that reflect their Maker's image. I think how pathetically mundane and normal and easy my life is today. I'm frustrated because I have a kid who has to be on a special diet? I should rejoice that special food is all she needs; and I would but for the heaviness in my heart.
Slow down, be thankful.
Waiting in line. How many other faces are hiding a hurt, a wound, a burden? How many other faces will crumble the minute they get to the safety of the car? How many will go home to a nightmare of a life?
Slow down, smile at someone.
And I want to smile, but it's so hard today. But I will, because I know how blessed I am and that there are some who can't smile today. I manage one smile before I am overwhelmed by it all and feel tears stinging my eyes.
Slow down, drive slowly.
The drive home. I drive down the street where she died, whisper a prayer for her mother. I drive slowly, and the street bears no sign of the tragedy that played out 24 hours ago. And I just want to let off the gas and coast along, but there is an impatient car behind me.
Slow down and listen.
And I'm home, in the garage, and I hear the happy noises of my children before I can open the door all the way, and they are all whole. For today. For today, I have all my children. Today, they are with me. Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
Slow down, hug the children. Slowly.
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