When I turn down Creamery Road, pass the the creamery that’s now abandoned, the window eyes all punched out, I wonder how they must have all looked, those silvery pails of milk that once lined up by the door, their tins lid hats pulled on so not one white drop spilled.
But isn’t as much milk lost through a pinhole, one minute little drip after another, as in the knocking over of the whole pail?
This is what follows me all the way home:
A pail with a pinhole loses as much as the pail pushed right over. A whole life can be lost in minutes wasted, small moments missed.
I unpack the van, haul in the door with baggage of my own. I’ve messed things up today and focused on the unhelpful and ugly instead of the beautiful and beneficial.
I don’t know why I waste time with worry in a life that’s too short to lose.
Regret and crying over spilled milk only pokes more hole in the pail.
The house is so full of life.
I put bags down on the counter.
Hope shows me her knitting and I touch stitches slow. Come when the boys call to cheer on a game of chess by the fire. Sit with Shalom with strings and knots of her own that she’s making into something warm.
Stir soup. Bank lasagnas away in the freezer. Watch Mama slip her silver needle through the weave, minute thread flashing, tying through it all. Mind the moments and life will take care of itself.
The whole bunch of irises smile.
I could catch them, the milk of moments here, the graces falling, His saving grace catching me, the gleaming pots right full to the brim.
making the most of every opportunity…
Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all people…