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soul fire

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SOMETIMES, THERE'S A REASON WHY WE'RE LATE

By Sherry Gavanditti

journalangel@aol.com

One day a talk-show caught my attention.  A woman asked a specialists, (the guy who looks like Howard from Mayberry) for help in understanding her "always being late" problem. The topic quickly got my attention because I occasionally run late. The specialist's reaction to her problem appeared pompous and trite.

He snapped out words implying her being selfish, spoiled and inconsiderate (not in those words but relaying that impression) without really searching for a true understanding or accepting  this woman's "time block.  There could be million underlying factors for her tardiness.

Sure, some people are truly selfish and uncaring and inconsiderate, and they're late because they don't care enough to be prompt.   I believe by fate sometimes we feel an unexplainable reluctance, or fear of leaving the house, or a subconscious stalling of events in our lives, and there is a much deeper occurrence in place, with reasons even a  "specialist" may not consider.

First, realize that no one is ALWAYS late, unless they try.

There have been countless times in my life and in the lives of friends and family who say things like "If I had left the house five minutes sooner, I wouldn't be alive today," or some other unnatural affect or incidence.  Odd little unexpected occurances make us late occasionally,  but are they saving us in some way?

Here's a story that was shared by a visitor:

"I was leaving with a friend on a road-trip down the east coast of Florida and was running so late the evening we were scheduled to leave, we decided to leave the next morning. The next morning, the news reported the biggest pileup in a decade with many people dead, and it had occurred just off our exit, just about the time we would have been in that area. By the next morning, the debris was still being cleaned from the freeway as we passed. So...being on time can kill you, sometimes.

Well, consider life-changing lateness.  Here's another story from a visitor:

"The night my mother went into labor, she didn't have insurance or the cash to pay for the hospital bill to have me, so she was turned away.  Although she was physically trying to go into labor, I was pushed back from birth for several hours. I was forced to be late for my own birth! I only recently found out about this and felt some sense of instinctual understanding in my soul.  I've never been the same about being late again."

Here's another story from a visitor:

"I used to work for The American Cancer Society, and while home from lunch one day, I decided to heat up a little bacon grease to coax my puppy to take his medicine. For some reason, I forgot about the grease on the stove. I went ahead and had my sandwich and watched a couple of minutes of my soap opera, then walked out the door, forgetting the soon to be combustible danger on the stove. When I got into my car, I looked at the clock on the dash, and realized that if I didn't leave then, I'd be late. I sat there in the car, unable to find the keys I'd just had in my hand. I had to rummage all through my purse and then found them right next to me. I started the car and tried to put it in reverse but the shifter wouldn't budge. I turned the car off. I started it again and it worked just fine. I began backing out of the drive, then, looked at the house again feeling even more frustrated that I'd be late, then drove away. When I walked into my office, I had a pack of matches stuck to my butt. The secretary teased me about sneaking off to smoke when not at work at the Cancer society. I laughed, but then I had a vision in my head that scared me to death. I saw my puppy barking at the same window I'd looked in before driving away. Behind him the house was billowing smoke. Suddenly, I remembered the bacon grease and yelled to call 911, then I sped back to my house, doing about 80 miles per hour or more to get there in time to save Benji, (a Terrier Lab, my little fellow, who is now 14 years old.) I ended up arriving before the fire truck and was able to get him out. The fire was contained to the stove and the house was saved. The firemen were surprised to see me there first, of course!"

So, the point is, our internal stalling is sometimes an adjustment from our angels, or our souls, or God, or mother earth, or father time...or who knows what, but perhaps, sometimes, it's for our own good.

One last story from a visitor:

"I was a child the day my neighbor was murdered. My brother and I decided to go visit our friend down the road.  My mother felt funny about lettings us walk down there, but we kids convinced her we were old enough. As we passed our neighbors house, we heard shouting.  About 6 minutes down the road, my brother wanted to turn around and go back. We had just gotten there so I didn't want to go back. He said he had a belly ache and really wanted to go home. I reluctantly walked him back.  During the short walk, I felt a sense of looming doom. I felt pulled to just sit down there on the dirt road and wait. I walked more slowly, knowing I had to get him home. I don't know what or why or how time worked out the way it did, because when we walked past our neighbors, we saw him lying in the yard face down with a bullet hole in his back.  A car was skidding away out of control.  It would have ran us over if we had been any closer to the house.

The point is, why did hesitation take over and change fate? Was our neighbor supposed to die? Did I save my brother by not arriving while the killer was there?  Was I late or was I early? I guess I will never know.

The emphasis I place on time is multileveled. I know sometimes that I may be late. Events such as parties, family gatherings, movies, grocery shopping; I don't get upset if I stroll in a few minutes late. I am not under the impression that the party is waiting on me. I feel more like my own person instead of worrying what everyone will think if I don't make a grand entrance while names are still being announced. 

 Being on time is sometimes not as crucial as getting what you came for.

What has prompted me to write is the overwhelming feeling that my sharing these thoughts may change lives and bring about understanding.

 I have come to believe that our journey in life does not always coincide with the calendar and the clock and the plans other humans may have for us. Our journey encompasses traveling along many roads-- not because of our plans or calendars or clocks, but because our journey is not one that can not be measured by a humans' standard measurement of time. Our journey will be at a pace only God and the almighty powers can schedule. We are on their clocks.

 Sometimes, we're supposed to be late.  Relate?