The Minute Hand

I pushed away from my desk and sat back in my chair. A coworker walks by my office and reminds me to breathe. So I do. I don’t realize I hold my breath. I look up at my wall clock and watch the minute hand. It’s so slow. Just like my breathing.

The movement of the time has never changed since the beginning of time, yet why do some days go so fast and others so very slow? This past week has been one long day. I guess maybe it has much to do with our state of mind. Mine hurts. Everything hurts.

Breathe.

Our lives are deeply interwoven. I don’t believe any of us fully comprehend the extent of our reach.

A sweet example to share is of a woman I ran into almost a year ago. I asked her if we had ever met before as she seemed familiar. She said yes, many years ago. She further explained that we had attended the same church for a short period of time. Since I left all those years ago she’s wanted to find me. She shared her great compassion for me although we had never discussed our personal lives. Yet she was so moved by the little interaction we did have, she wanted to find me to make sure I was okay. She and I are great friends now.

We never know whose lives we touch on our journey, who watch from afar, or who search for us.

Not every example of intertwining lives is sweet though. Some are on the hellish side. Like now.

Breathe.