Takin’ a Long Time

Another lesson:  Some things DO take time.  Healing takes time.  A long time.  Rushing will not help.

Last weekend I met my sister halfway between New Orleans and Lakeland to bring my big kids back home.  We spent a couple of nights together in the armpit of Florida’s panhandle, and ended up eating dinner at a greasy spoon known for it’s jumbo shrimp.  Everyone except me enjoyed their dinner (I’ve tried, I really have, but I just don’t LIKE seafood all that much.) and we all headed for the bathroom since it takes half an hour to get ANYWHERE in such a rural area.  Angie (my sis) and I entered the bathroom and wouldn’t ya know, one of the two stalls was out of order.  Inside the working stall, there were four little feet.  The door popped open and out came two little girls, one obviously a big sister helping out her littler sister.  Big sister stepped back and Angie entered the stall while little sister ran out to their table.  Big sister then just stood there, waiting in line.  “Do you have to go?” I asked her, “Do you need a turn?”  She grinned up at me and drawled in the cutest Southern accent, “I was jist lettin’ ever’body else go ferst.  I’m gon’ take a long time.”

I really did have to go, but I turned to the sink and said “I’m just gonna wash my hands.”  I didn’t have the heart to make her wait on me.

Lil’ Big Sister had business to attend to. It was going to take a while and she didn’t pretend otherwise.  Man, I could learn a lesson from her.  I’ve tried so hard to rush past my pain.  I’ve felt guilty and weak for needing what seems to be an inordinate amount of time to heal.  (Though as I’ve admitted, my avoidance surely has prolonged my healing process.)  But ya know what?  Good things… REALLY good things like fork-tender roast beef, oven baked mac n cheese, fully grown citrus trees, higher education degrees, and a good-quality hair color… ALL take time!  And some things, REALLY good things… are worth the time.  Things like pregnancies, rose gardens, fine wine, cheddar cheese, and yes, broken hearts… are WORTH the time they take up.

I think my problem comes in when I rush myself.  I try to sprint through what is nothing less than a tri-athlon. I’ve refused myself the patience it takes to allow mending stitches to be sewn.  No more.  My heart wants to be healed and I will give it the time it needs.

So if you need to, “I’ll letcha go ferst… I’m gon’ take a long time!”


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