You are a thief. There, I said it. I don’t want to upset you because I so desperately need more of you but it’s true.

You go too fast and we can’t keep up. We beg you to slow down and most often you don’t listen. Or maybe we don’t listen. I’m not sure which one it is.

We cling to you for dear life as you slip through our hands like trying to hold sand. I guess maybe we are meant to enjoy the sand slipping through our fingers, the feel of it, the joy of it, like toddlers on the beach. But we forget because we’re grasping so tightly.

Some days, it is as if we are addicts, addicted to the need of you, but yet, not being able to find you. We search for more of you like searching for that drug we have to have and maybe while we’re searching, you rush on by.

The magic of you is a mystery.

We wake up one morning and you are gone like the magician that disappears from the stage. We ask ourselves where you went, how you escaped us without even knowing, how is it that 20 years can disappear overnight. Maybe if we’d slow down and enjoy the show, we’d be mesmerized and enthralled in what you have to offer, and realize you are still there even when we can’t see you or hold you or touch you.

Let me back up.

As I write these words, I realize maybe you’re not the bad guy after all. I am willing to admit you are precious, so very precious. Maybe we’re just so caught up in having more of this, of that, of stuff, of activities, of things to do, places to be, checking off to do lists, that we stop listening, that we leave our door open for you to quietly slip out when we’re not looking and take what we took for granted. I’m sorry, that is not your fault.

Maybe we can do better. . .

treat you more preciously, invite you over to dinner, to share in our laughter, our moments, our fort building, to teach us how to slow down and listen, to take you in and not rush you on out. Maybe you can teach us to feel the sand between our fingers and toes and just absorb the feeling and how to lay in the grass and look up at the clouds and the joy of quiet as we read a book we’ve been trying to find time to read. And maybe, as we hold our little ones close, take that twirl in the kitchen, hold a loved one’s hand, or sit by someone’s bedside, you can teach us how to just take – in – the – moment – slowly. Lots of deep breaths.

Yeah, I know you’ll never be slow enough for me to catch up, that you’ll always slip away faster than we hope, but I so much pray that we learn to value you more and maybe you’ll give us a chance, at least every now and then.

xoxo,

jcg

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