Don't Rush Me

One of the first things I notice when I travel back home to Tennessee is the difference in the pace of life there as compared to here in Kansas City. Maybe it's just that I've grown accustomed to the always in a hurry, gotta meet the deadline world of advertising, but I don't really think so. I think a lot of folks in the Midwest, or in Kansas City at least, adopt a more "tackle everything at breakneck speed" attitude toward life than their Southern neighbors do. And before anyone writes me a scathing email about that statement, I'm not saying either approach to life ... fast-paced or laid-back ... is better or worse than the other. All I'm saying is there's a difference ... a difference that is abundantly noticeable to me when I return to the city where I spent the first 20 plus years of my life.

It's true that our perception of things quite often shapes our reality ... sometimes my Midwestern friends get aggravated with me for my take my time Southern approach to life, while my Southern family and friends get equally as ticked off at me for my always in a hurry Midwestern take on life. I like to think of myself as a blend of sorts ... mostly Southern with definite flavors of Midwestern thrown in to spice things up a bit. I never get in a hurry when it comes to conversation, but I can be in and out of Walmart and on to my next task in a flash. There are times when I'm really thankful for my ability to function at a quick pace ... like when I have 50 editing projects that all have the same deadline. But there are also times when I'm especially thankful for my ability to push everything aside and slow down ... like when someone really needs to talk and they really need me to listen.

I read through a ton of emails over the weekend and while there were many that touched my heart, there was one in particular that I haven't been able to get out of my mind. It was written by a 64-year-old gentleman who lives in a small town in Vermont where he recently retired from a career in the medical field. In his note, Bill shared with me that he had lost his wife unexpectedly last Christmas when her car was struck head-on by a drunk driver ... such a sad, sad story of love and loss. But it was the following words that got to me ... the following words made the torrential rains that accompany springtime storms seem like light showers compared to the amount of tears I cried when I read them. 

"Lisa was again late in leaving for work that morning as she often was. Her lack of concern regarding arrival times and my obsessive preclusion to always arriving early had long been a source of contention between us and that morning was no exception. I remained quiet for as long as I could before blurting out my disdain for my wife's recurring tardiness in a stern and demanding tone. Rather than motivating her to pay closer attention to the time, my words had the opposite effect upon Lisa. She kissed me and calmly said 'Don't rush me Bill. You're always rushing me. Kiss me instead.' Three hours later two officers told me Lisa had been killed when her car was struck head-on by a drunk driver. The last words I heard my beloved wife say were 'Don't rush me.' I want all of those times back that I rushed Lisa. I want all of those rushed minutes back so I can tell her how sorry I am." 

I'm sure it wasn't a coincidence that I went outside to mow the lawn after I finished reading Bill's email ... I'm beginning to believe there's little to nothing that happens in life that's a coincidence, friends. The moment I pushed the lawnmower out of the garage, I saw the brilliant blossoms of the rose bush that resides next to my driveway ... the rose bush that my son Matt planted almost 14 years ago when we moved into our house. I stood there staring at the beautiful red roses as I remembered how Matt carefully chose the exact rose he wanted ... as I remembered how carefully he planted it in the ground ... as I remembered how carefully he nurtured it as it grew ... as I remembered how carefully he pruned it in the fall ... as I remembered how carefully he watched for it to display new growth each spring. The roses this year are more beautiful than they have ever been ... the leaves are greener, the branches are stronger, and the roses ... the roses have a deeper, richer, more vibrant color. Matt's rose bush is so much more beautiful now ... 14 years later ... it's more beautiful now than it's ever been before ... so much more beautiful and so very, very, very much more precious to me.

Bill closed his email to me by encouraging me not to rush anyone through anything ... he told me not to rush anyone ... he told me to especially not rush myself. This man I've never met, and more than likely never will, told me to remember that growth takes time, that love takes patience, that listening and caring and sharing and trusting can never ever be rushed. Bill's closing words were ... seriously, I promise his closing words were, "Terrie, don't rush through this life, it's the only one you have. Take your time to stop and smell the roses while you have them."

Don't rush me ... I'm smelling the roses.