Five Minutes by Liz Flaherty

Monday, 9:00 PM

I'm having a heck of a time writing anything tonight. I like getting blog posts done early so that I don't have to worry about them. I probably attach too much importance to blogging--I don't believe it's the promotional tool it used to be. Not as many people read them, not as many people comment on them, not as many people...I don't know...take the time, maybe, because in the scheme of things, spending five minutes or so reading someone else's thoughts probably isn't a judicious expenditure of time.

It reminds me of a question I was asked once in an interview. I don't remember how it was worded, but it boiled down to What did I want my writing to mean to readers? I said, and again I don't remember my exact words, that I didn't count on changing their lives in any appreciable way, but I wanted to give them a good afternoon.

Last night, gathering to tell our grandson goodbye and God bless before he began his drive from Indiana to Maryland to start a new job, I hugged both his parents and his younger brother and him and told them all I loved them. The farewell probably took five minutes. 

Tuesday, 6:00 AM

Very little is on my mind other than the fact that three nine-year-olds died yesterday. Three adults. A shooter. I'm so sorry, and so tired of Second Amendment rights trumping the rights of children to grow up. And I keep thinking of those families and how much they'd give for five more minutes. 

I remember dropping off and picking my kids up from practices at school. It's five minutes there and five minutes home. I wasted so many of those trips by having my mind somewhere other than on the kid in the passenger seat. If I had those five minutes now...

As an early riser, I've spent so much time standing at the French doors in my office watching the sun come up with the promise of another day. I've watched it go down through the west window of the office or from the back porch of the house and sought respite in the gentle ending to a day often fraught with no gentleness at all. 

There are so many times in all of our lives when five minutes has made such a difference. More than an afternoon reading a book, more than a much-needed vacation, more than any of the things we accumulate.

I will stop now. Nan and I are meeting for a work-and-lunch day that often turns into a mental health day. I have a feeling it will today. 

Besides, the sun is fixing to come up. I need to accept the heart's ease it offers each morning. What a blessing that is, that five minutes.