She always asks why we are here, what we are thinking, and why we bother coming if we don’t give it everything we have.  She doesn’t want an answer.  It is an hour that belongs to us. An hour to think about the day, decide what might be nagging us, or maybe lifting us.   

An hour...

That someone else may not have.

I recall the discovery of Carson’s Cars, when we stumbled across this Jeep, at Hole-in-the- Rock, Moab. It was an impressive work of art with a simple reminder of what matters…time. We found a matchbox tucked into the passenger-side door with a message. It was Mother’s Day and we decided to leave the matchbox on the Jeep to perpetuate this gift of time to Carson’s mom. You see, everyone who finds one of these matchboxes throughout the country, reads his story and his spirit lives on, in her heart, and ours.

One hour.

l admit, I had rushed to class this morning basking in our recent road trip, subconsciously planning our next one, filtering out the days we could see the grandkids, and trying to decide if the kitchen paint color should be Tortilla, Biscotti, or Midland Tan. 

The deep breath ten minutes into that spin class cured that. She was right. There are people who would love our chaos, and our bad days.

An hour.

It is up to you to make it worthwhile.

I recall the pool-time visit from my grandkids last week, grateful they are close by.   They know how to do this time thing. In fact, they must know there are 3600 seconds in that hour. They never stop moving, do they? They are learning and loving and on a mission every second of the day.

This time we talked about wisdom. The older ones found out I added words, quoting the youngest, to my collection on the garage fridge.  I told them anyone could add to it. It just had to feel wise, important, or helpful. The quote from their three year-old brother: Sharing is Caring.  

The next thing I knew, the sticky notes disappeared from my desk and wisdom at its finest landed on the fridge. 

Be reminded, there is that one hour.…that someone else might not have.

Remembering the children of Uvalde.

Wind Kisses, Donna

Inspired by: A closer look at Lens-Artists/Every Little Thing