Making Time To Do The Things That Matter

I work on a disaster relief cleanup and mud out team. We are trained for a lot of things but one thing we do is take a house down to the studs up to two feet above the water line after it’s been flooded. Then, we spray for mold and the homeowner can begin to rebuild.

We were in Arkansas last year working on a house beside a creek. The woman who lived in the house was in the hospital with unrelated health problems and her father, an older man, was sitting outside under a huge tree with our chaplain watching us work. He shared how he had advised his daughter not to live in the house, but it had been in the family for a long time and she loved it. Now, we were carrying all of her water-soaked belongings out to a trailer to be hauled away and discarded. Everything was destroyed up to just below the ceiling. The sag in the old man’s shoulders and the sadness in the way he watched us carry each load past him was one of the most difficult parts of our job.

Working in the living room, I came across a framed photograph of a teenage girl standing beside a horse. Somehow, it had made it through the flooding without being damaged. My only guess is that the piece of furniture upon which it was located must have floated, keeping it above the surface of the water. I took it outside and gave it to the man. He reached slowly for it and said, “I thought that was gone.” He stood there, unable to say more, just holding a memory of his daughter’s childhood and quietly looking down at it. I left him with his treasure, a lump in my throat, and went back to work.

When my kids were preschoolers, Kent worked about forty-five minutes away. It was before the days of cell phones and personal calls at work were frowned upon. He worked long hours and often traveled on business for a week at the time. It was a lot like being a single parent with an extra member of the household to wash, clean, and cook for. We were active in our church and I usually volunteered if there was anything going on, so much of the time I was rushing the kids out the door to one thing or another. We were busy.

One morning, I was once again trying to get everybody to the van with the usual, “Hurry, hurry, hurry!” as I shooed them out the door. Herding them down the sidewalk, I caught a glimpse up the street. It was a beautiful morning. The sky was blue, the grass and trees were green, and the birds were singing-one of those moments when everything zooms in and makes a snapshot in your brain, an instant in time captured forever. Suddenly, it hit me. My kids are growing up, I’m able to stay home with them, the time is racing past, and all I ever say is, “Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!”

Not long after that, Bible study teacher, Beth Moore, told a story of a woman in her church who taught three year old’s. Beth related that it was the only job the woman had at church and many people might consider having only one job as not doing her part, not pulling her weight. But early one Sunday morning, as Beth passed the three year old classroom, she saw the woman on her knees in front of those “baby bear chairs” praying for each child that would come into her class, interceding for each little one entrusted to her care. Beth said you can do a lot of things, but you can only do a few things well. She admonished women to choose carefully what you commit to, say no to the rest, and give your very best to those few things you do.

I started saying no. To those things I was under obligation to for a specified time, I finished out my commitment and didn’t re-up. When asked to do something else I was perfectly capable of doing, I took time to consider, look at the big picture, and assess the toll on my family before making a decision. People often looked at me, puzzled, and sometimes I felt like a shirker-until I began to see the effect of the downsizing of my lifestyle on my children.

We found ourselves with time. Time to color, paint, and draw on recycled computer paper on the kitchen floor. Time for picnics in the park and feeding the ducks at the pond. Time for taking Kent lunch at work and sitting on a bench by the Riverwalk to eat it with him. Sometimes, we played hockey with sticks and a kickball in the back yard. And sometimes…sometimes, we just lay on our backs and watched the shapes change in the clouds, talking about little things like bugs, and dogs, and kittens, and telling silly jokes. Most of all, we just had time together, memories to make, and nowhere to go.

Spending the afternoon in our hallway under tornado warnings recently, then working with our cleanup team in the aftermath of the storm, I was reminded once again. Life is fragile. Time is precious. Stuff doesn’t last. Saying no to unnecessary busyness makes it possible to hug the ones you love and to make time to do the things that really matter.