Moments in time, some faster than others

The other morning I had a ceramic “coffee” cup in my hands. I had just brewed some tea and was crossing the kitchen, filled with anticipation for the nice warm beverage on what was a rather chilly morning.

I have no explanation why, but the cup slipped from my fingers: The next fraction of a second felt like a slow-motion sequence in a film.

I can still visualize it, suspended in the air while my mind raced from one possibility to another. Would the cup bounce unharmed? Break apart? Shatter into dangerous shards all around my bare feet?

And then the question was answered. The cup broke mostly into large pieces, one of which brushed my foot leaving a small, quick-bleeding wound. I found the first aid kit, bandaged the cut, then fetched the broom for the first phase of cleaning and the vacuum for the second.

What stayed with me was the slow-motion fraction of a second–all those possibilities shouldering each other for the chance to become a miniscule part of history.

I have just finished writing the “cemetery walk” story for this week’s newspaper. I can’t help thinking about the “pregnancy” inherent in every moment: What will be born from it?

I am immensely grateful I took three hours of my Sunday afternoon to walk through Woodville Cemetery, speak with the tour guides, and learn the stories behind (beneath?) the headstones. The enthusiasm and appreciation registered by each of the presenters essentially provided an extension to the long-ended lives being described. I feel fortunate to have been there.

The same was true of interviewing Eldora Krause and Len and Phil Marquardt, members of Immanuel Lutheran Church of Freedom Township. Their deep regard and rich connection to their church–which is celebrating its 150th year–made me feel privileged to receive their stories. Being in their beautiful, homey house of worship was only the beginning; hearing their stories was the honor.

And so perhaps now I know what this column is about: moments.

The moments, the decisions, the connections which are always nudging us, always asking to be taken note of. There are too many to be remembered, of course, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be appreciated.

Perhaps in one version of reality, the cup didn’t break.

But I am glad I got the version where I said “yes” when I was asked to write a story for Immanuel Freedom’s 150th anniversary and to spend Sunday afternoon in Woodville Cemetery. Though it was demanding–How can one describe on paper what happened in real time?--I am glad I took on the task of recording those moments of history which shouldered their way into my experience. 

I also take away another lesson: Go anyway.

Yes, it would be easier to stay home. Yes, it might be hot outside…or cold, or windy, or who knows…but go anyway. Overcome “the tendency of a body at rest to remain at rest”; recognize the possibilities inherent in the moment; acknowledge the privileges which await.

Go anyway.