Now in a great house there are not only vessels of gold and silver but also of wood and clay, some for honorable use, some for dishonorable. Therefore, if anyone cleanses himself from what is dishonorable, he will be a vessel for honorable use, set apart as holy, useful to the master of the house, ready for every good work.
2 Timothy 2:20-21 (ESV)
While I was working full time for the University of Arizona from 1992-1997, I was moving through my days and weeks FAST—traveling at a high rate of velocity. When I added leading two enrichment classes on the weekends at SBC during that same period of time—well, all I can say is that many times I greatly exceeded the speed limit!
During those intense years of momentum, I learned a valuable truth many before me had already discovered: If you want something done, ask a busy person. This notion has been attributed to statesman Benjamin Franklin, and epigrammatist Elbert Hubbard. But my favorite version is Lucille Ball’s take on it: If you want anything done, ask a busy man. If you want work well done, ask a busy woman! (Ha, ha—down boys!)
When momentum dies down like it did during the recent quarantine, did you notice that you felt sluggish and unproductive? These feelings are our natural response to a lack of momentum—forward movement—in our lives. Have you also noticed that when your momentum picked up speed you accomplished so much more and felt better about yourself—your surroundings—your life?
To counteract inertia, Darryl and I have ramped up discussions about our seventh decade, about people we want to touch base with, about decisions we feel will keep the momentum of our lives flowing forward. We have been moving at a brisk pace our whole lives and we want to finish well.
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, the first line of the poem, The Road Not Taken, was written in 1916 by Robert Frost. It is about the struggle of a traveler to decide which of two roads he will take. Thankfully, we chose our path years ago and now we find ourselves intrigued with the outcome—and in fulfilling the nostalgic benediction of the poem’s last paragraph.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.