five minutes

Being just so type A, I thrive on schedules, regimented time blocks, routines–the whole regime.  I hate trying to just ‘fit things in’, I want everything to have it’s own allotted time block so that I can check it off my list, instead of leaving it half-done.

I find my day is made up of distractions and–instead of the half or whole hour increments that I crave–my time consists of teeny blocks of five.  Minutes, that is.

What to do?  At first I was irritated.

“I can’t just SIT DOWN and get this done?!  Come on!!”  The laundry would call.  A sibling would need something.  My mom would need an errand run.  A friend would ask for help.  Inevitably, something would come up.

The story always went:
Amy sits at her computer to write.
If it is not between the hours of 9pm and 6am, chances are she gets called away for, or distracted by something.
Amy decides to sacrifice sleep instead.
Amy, running on little sleep, can’t think clearly enough to be able to accomplish anything…anything WELL at least.
Amy notices hours of fragmented free time during her day–but despairs, because it’s not how she likes to work.

Five minutes of free came, I despaired.  There’s nothing I can ‘get into’ right now.

Do you remember Toy Story?  At one scene, the mom tells her son that he has five minutes before they leave to go get pizza.  The son responds, glancing at his toys, “Five minutes, eh?”  The wheels turn.  How much can I play in five minutes?

Next scene, he has concocted a huge, elaborate set-up for his toys–he is in the middle of an epic adventure with his toys when his mom comes to get him.

This kid knows time management.

I’m always in a rush.  I see five minutes as a tiny block of time–not enough to finish anything, so why try?  I’m highly distractible.  I have a hard time finishing something, if I don’t do it in the same sitting as when I started.  Just get it done, get it done, get it done.

God doesn’t call us to rush life.

He calls me to take that five minutes, and instead of wasting that precious five, throwing it away, proclaiming that it’s not enough for me, saying that I want more–He calls me to embrace that five minutes, and give it all I’m worth.

To remember that it’s sheerly by His grace that my heart beats, my lungs breath for those five–how am I blessing Him?  How am I taking the gift He has given, relishing, breathing, and loving those five?

While I’m waiting outside karate, waiting to drive the kids home, I could send an encouraging text to a friend.

When the I know the dryer is just about to be finished, I could answer one email.

A few minutes before I leave to take my sister to babysitting, I could read a few verses of His Word.

I could read a page in one of my current books.

I could fold half a basket of laundry.

I could clean the sliding glass doors.

I could read a board book to the baby.

I could write 100 words…or maybe more.

I could read a blog post, like this one that I took those five to read this morning.

I could count gifts.

I could kneel at my bed and pray.

Five minutes is a long time, to the Maker of Time.

I am ashamed that I so nonchalantly tossed the gift of five aside, calling it useless, neglecting its small worth.  I am ashamed that I frowned upon the small, that I scowled at the thought of such a tiny increment.

I can’t do big things in five minutes.  Oh, Amy?  And one Who’s time table are you on?

Don’t despise the small, cherish the small.

Amy B
Editor
Jesus lover. Obsessive coffee drinker. Chocolate consumer. Plays guitar. Sings too loud. Apple girl. Wordaholic. Bookie. Music junkie. Techy. Unlikely hipster.

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