It's the rule...

...each minute has 60 seconds.




Perhaps there is nothing that we are all more equal in than time.  Not that we all have the same amount of time, but for everyone, everywhere, 60 seconds is 1 minute.  There's no getting around that.  I understand that some people come into this world with time to only draw one breath, while others may have over a hundred years worth of living given to them.  I guess the thing that makes the difference with what time we are given is what we do with that time.




As a little girl I would ride out to the field with my mother to take dinner to daddy and Dean on the tractor.  It was typical of my mother to fry up a batch of chicken and make a large potato salad along with a mason jar of iced tea for each of us.  The smell of the chicken on a towel covered platter in the back seat made that short drive seem like an eternity.   We would park along side the field they were working, sometimes plowing or undercutting and in the fall, planting, and wait for them to finish their round before stopping, the smell of the chicken becoming more mouth-watering by each of the 60 seconds of each minute. 




When Michael and Lauren ran cross country in high school they would run lap after lap through the neighborhoods around Viewmont.  The purpose of the time was to build up their muscles and train their heart and lungs.  Speed wasn't as important as training, but when they ran a race, the only thing that mattered to the judges was their number of 60 second intervals on the race course.




When Andy and Michael left on 2 year missions for the Church of Jesus Christ of Later-Day Saints, I couldn't imagine how I would ever survive not having them sitting at their allotted spaces at the supper table.  I had a daily sticker chart that showed our progress toward the goal of getting them home.  Each sticker represented 24 hours and with 60 seconds in each of those 60 minutes of each of those 24 hour days...well you get the picture...it was long.  However, towards the end of the 24 months, I couldn't believe how fast it had gone.




When Aubrey had her first ultra-sound of Preston, we were told he might not survive to birth.  Each interval between doctor visits seemed so long, but the few seconds it took to do another ultra-sound as she lay on the table seemed like an eternity until we saw that precious little heart still beating right on cue.




Like Aubrey, when each of our daughters told us they were pregnant, 9 months seemed forever away.  In that nine months a miracle would happen with fingernails and eyelashes in exactly the right place.  Then they would go into labor and in just a few hours, or in some cases minutes, they would bring a new life into the world.  Each one of our 13 miracles was allotted an unknown amount of time with which they would grow, learn and evolve into adults.




In each of the situations I mentioned, time meant something different, but you can't get around the fact that each minute of each period of time I mentioned was just 60 seconds long.




...when daddy died suddenly, my mother repeatedly said, just one more minute with him...




...just a few more seconds to tell him one more time that I love him...




...and I wondered what I would say to him if I had just one more minute, just 60 more seconds to tell him how much I treasure him...




...my mother's dad was a barber in the little Mennonite community of Montezuma, KS.  He always wore a pocket watch.  I remember as a little girl watching him pull on the chain and seeing his round watch slide out of his vest pocket.  He would turn the dial on the watch with such a serious face, as if he was counting each turn, knowing it took a gentle hand to wind it precisely so as to not over-wind and break it, knowing if he didn't handle it responsibly it would stop ticking and he would lose track of time.




...knowing he might lose minutes of the day...




...knowing he would lose 60 seconds of each of those minutes.




...and now my mother is winding down like my Grandpa Covey's pocket watch that had to be wound everyday. Only God can know the amount of time she has been given, only He knows when she will take her final breath. But I know I can make a difference in the time my mother has left.  I can ease her pain, cheer her through the difficult times and hold her hand through painful minutes that lay ahead.




...and I wonder with every minute I spend not at her side...




...will I wish later I had just one more minute...




...just 60 more seconds to tell her I love her...




My brother told me I don't have to do this.  We can put her somewhere that others can help her.  I know he's thinking of me and I'm grateful that he is concerned.




...but no, I tell him, I know she'll never leave here...




...I will want her close so I can have just one more minute with her...




...60 more seconds to tell her I love her...