Long day yesterday, and I found myself meditating on this story from Anne Lamott speaking about Easter on NPR (for the full article, click here):
"When I was 38, my best friend, Pammy, died, and we went shopping about two weeks before she died, and she was in a wig and a wheelchair.
I was buying a dress for this boyfriend I was trying to impress, and I bought a tighter, shorter dress than I was used to. And I said to her, 'Do you think this makes my hips look big?' and she said to me, so calmly, 'Anne, you don't have that kind of time.'
And I think Easter has been about the resonance of that simple statement; and that when I stop, when I go into contemplation and meditation, when I breathe again and do the sacred action of plopping and hanging my head and being done with my own agenda, I hear that, 'You don't have that kind of time,' you have time only to cultivate presence and authenticity and service, praying against all odds to get your sense of humor back."
"That's how it has changed for me," Lamott continues. "That was the day my life changed, when she said that to me."
You don't have that kind of time.
...
So, tell someone you love them and then say it again.
Close the laptop and go soak up some sun.
Pick up the phone.
Let it go, whatever "it" is.
Let it go, whatever "it" is.
Put down the flat-iron & love your crazy-haired self.
Dance to the rhythms of grace.
Say "thank You" as often as you breathe, all the while praying "oh lord have mercy".
Forgive yourself.
Care for your body, God's temporary temple.
Be present without speaking a word.
...
'Cause all those moments, those tiny miracles and those mundane, easily forgotten details, each one is precious. Something to cherish and savor like a delicious meal, like a loved one's touch, like the feel of soaring through a wave in the ocean.
-b.
