Dear Maria,
When they come home, then they will be here.
I reckon some folks are quick to think my order of fortune cookies did finally arrive. But, the heart of the matter is that in waiting impatiently as so many are on our young friend and her adopted son to come home from Africa, I have been pointedly and deeply lessoned once again that life does not move according to the hands on my clock.
Forgive the retreat to the Old School reference, but a nice image, that of hands counting out time.
How often—from dozens, no hundreds wiser than I will ever be—we are schooled: “Patience and time do more than strength or passion,” Jean La Fontaine. Yes, yes. I know, I know, but the flickering brevity of our lives?
So this morning I was quite sure that the next piece for Schooled was in my head, mostly, and ready to be written. Then, a short exchange via facebook, and I understood that the passage of time once again allowed for a deepening of an experience, in this case for a new mother and by extension, for me, for all of us. The puzzle did, in fact, have pieces missing. Were our needs for a resolution quickly met, some of the most powerful moments of this unfolding would go unknown.
In just a few minutes, I was touched in my heart, I was transformed in my thinking. I was reminded. To every season, indeed.
Ethiopia’s reach back into anthropological time may extend 4 million years.
The dog needed to be walked before I could sit down to the laptop.
A few weeks in the life of a mother and child, the next fifty years or so….
Enough, for I must ready myself for an appointment with the allergist, who waits for no man.
As always, srk
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